Lancelot and Fuliciana
by Stahlfan125
Summary: Companion to 'The Sister of Guinevere'. This is Lancelot's POV on everything that happens. (LancelotOC) COMPLETE!
1. Stupid Bloody Romans

Whoo! First chapter of Lancelot POV! I'm so excited!

Please Read and review, and if you've read my original version of SOG, but not the Re-written version, I suggest you read the re-written version before you read this, unless you're reading them in opposite order...you know what, do whatever you want!

DISCLAIMER: Don't own nothing but Fuliciana!

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Chapter 1: Stupid Bloody Romans

"Who are you?"

"I am Arthur Castus, commander of the Sarmatian knights and by Bishop Germinus of Rome. Open the gate."

The gate slowly slid open. I looked to Galahad and he shrugged uneasily. Bors and Dagonet tensed up, their hands hovering near their weapons.

_Stupid bloody Romans_, I thought to myself angrily. _Damn Rome anyway. _

Arthur looked at me, and I grinned up at him with what I hoped was one of my usual cocky grins. That was the problem with me acting cocky. I was constantly hoping.

"It's a wonder you have come!" exclaimed an extremely large Roman man, opening his arms as if to embrace all of us. (Judging by his size, he could have if he had really wanted to.) "Good Jesus! Arthur and his knights!"

He reached out to pet Galahad's horse, but the young man pulled back, looking to Gawain with a helpless disgust. The Roman, Marius, didn't seem at all fazed by Galahad's rude refusal.

"You have fought the Woads," he said conversationally. "Vile creatures."

I looked away, and found that my eyes met Tristan's. The man smirked and nodded towards Marius, as if to say 'what a bloody idiot'. I nodded and turned back to watch Arthur.

"Our orders are to evacuate you immediately," Arthur said, his face devoid of any emotion whatsoever. I saw something flicker across Marius's face, but I wasn't very good at reading emotions, so I wasn't quite sure of what it was. It looked like the man was nervous, though.

"Th...that's impossible," he stuttered indignantly. Arthur ignored him.

"Which is Alecto?" he asked, looking around. A young boy swathed in fancy blue robes spoke up from the top of the wall. If I hadn't known any better I'd have thought he was wearing a dress.

"I am Alecto," he said regally.

"Alecto is my son. And everything we have is here in the land given to us by the Pope of Rome," Marius said, as if he were explaining to a child.

"Well," I said, tilting my head to one side in the way that women found so attractive. "You're about to give it to the Saxons."

Arthur shot me a glare, but if I wasn't mistaken, I thought I saw the corners of his eyes twitching up in a smile.

"They're invading from the north," he explained to Marius, since the man obviously didn't possess much intelligence.

"Then Rome will send an army," Marius said defiantly. I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes, and I instead smirked, my eyes staring unfocused at the back of Dalai's mane.

"They have," Arthur said emotionlessly. "Us. We leave when you are packed."

"I refuse to leave," Marius said defiantly. I sighed and looked at Arthur, but he did not look back at me, instead choosing to stare at Marius with hatred in his gaze.

Young Alecto stepped forward with an older woman who I assumed was his mother following him timidly.

"Get back to work!" Marius yelled to the serfs that were gathering around us, staring at us with open wonder. "All of you! Get back to work!"

"Back to work," a random mercenary repeated. He shoved some of the serfs to the ground, just to show them that he meant business.

"All right! All right!" exclaimed one of them indignantly. I nodded my head slightly in unconscious respect for his defiance, despite the conditions he was living in.

"Go on!"

"Go!"

"Go back to work!"

Marius was clearly trying to prove to Arthur and the rest of us (though I wasn't really sure that he cared all that much about what we lowly pagans thought) that the conversation was over. Arthur, however, being Arthur, wouldn't be deterred. He dismounted his horse, his entire body practically shaking with anger, and he stood directly in front of Marius, obviously too close for the other man's comfort.

"If I fail to bring you and your son back, my men can never leave this land." He said, his jaw clenched tight and his fists tighter. "So you're coming with me if I have to tie you to my horse and drag you all the way to Hadrian's Wall myself." He paused, and then made the faintest mock bow, surprising me greatly. "My Lord," he said, sarcastically. Marius just stared at him, blinking rapidly in surprise. "Lady," Arthur said, looking now towards Marius's wife, who stood behind the now-shocked-into-silence Roman. She gently reached out her hand and it rested on his arm, asking a question. Marius nodded quickly.

"Go!" he exclaimed, as if all of the problems he was experiencing were her fault.

Marius stared at Arthur for a long time, who stared back, not wanting this man to get the psychological advantage that he was so clearly seeking. Finally, Marius turned to go.

"Come," he said to Alecto, who was watching all of us with placidly wide eyes. He nodded after a while and turned as well, following his father. I moved my horse forward, but then I realized that Arthur was not moving. He was staring at a stone building with a torch on top, unmoving, just staring. I stared too, not quite sure why he was looking at this building so seriously, as if his heart were breaking inside.

"Come, let's go," Bors said to Arthur with just the slightest hint of impatience. Arthur looked at him, startled, and then looked back at me. When he saw me staring at him, he quickly looked away, but I didn't miss the anger and fear on his face.

This only served to confuse me more. What was the man so damned angry about anyway? I didn't understand Arthur half the time, and I wasn't sure if I should be annoyed by it, or if I should respect him for it. Usually, I settled for the latter, but occasionally my mind would move towards the former before I could stop it.

Suddenly, before I could ask Arthur what was so interesting about that building, Arthur began walking towards the serf's village, drawing his legendary blade, Excalibur. Bors, watching Arthur pull out his weapon, did the same.

A man, the same one who I had been admiring earlier for his defiance, approached Arthur, lacking the nervous reverence that most of the serfs seemed to have for Arthur.

"Sir. You're famous!" he exclaimed, giving me cause to smirk. "You're Arthur, aren't you?" He didn't wait for Arthur to reply, probably sensing that the commander wasn't going to. "I'm Ganis, I'm a good fighter and I'm smart. I'd serve you proudly."

"Are you from Rome?" said one of the two monks that that was standing nearby, speaking to Bors.

"From Hell," Bors replied. The monk stared at him, his moth agape in shock, obviously not sure if Bors was joking or not. The man had certainly sounded serious enough. The monk backed up a bit, and Bors started after Arthur. I followed for a few steps, just so I could be closer to Arthur if anything happened. (Not that any serfs could possibly hope to cause anything remotely related to harm to our commander.)

"Who is this man?" Arthur asked, pointing to an old man with his sword. I had not yet noticed the old man, but once I looked, I could see an old man who hung by his wrists from a three-legged structure made of wood, looking quite dead.

"He's our village elder," Ganis said reluctantly.

"What is this punishment for?" Arthur asked, but his question was met with silence. He looked at Ganis sternly. "Answer me!"

Ganis looked around at all the other serfs that were gathering. Then, he gave a sigh, took in a deep breath, and gave his answer.

"He defied our master, Marius," he said. "Most of the food we grow is sent out by sea to be sold. He asked to keep a little more for ourselves, that's all! My arse has been snuffing at the grass, I'm so hungry! You're from Rome! Is it true that Marius is a spokesman for God? And that it is a sin to defy him?"

I immediately knew how much this last question would anger Arthur. Though he certainly did not know it, I spent much of my time examining him and listening to him talk. Perhaps he didn't think I listened, but I knew all about Arthur and his damn thoughts about nobility and his God. Well, everything he spoke aloud, anyway. Thus, knowing this much of my closest friend, I knew that this question of sin would upset him.

Arthur looked back at the old man, and then he turned to look at the serfs, barely giving young Alecto a pause before turning to Ganis, pointing the sword at the man's neck.

"Poor fool," Gawain remarked to me. "He'll be lucky if he doesn't shit himself."

I nodded and murmured an agreement; much more interested in listening to what Arthur had to say.

"I tell you now," he said, looking Ganis in the eyes chillingly. "Marius is not of God. And you, all of you, were free from your first breath!"

With that, Arthur dove forward and swung Excalibur madly, slicing the chains that were holding the old man up. The old man crumbled to the ground, and not for the first time I wondered if the man was dead.

"Help this man!" Arthur roared, pointing to the man who lay on the ground. No one moved forward, so Arthur yelled again. "Help him!"

A woman was the first to respond. She hesitantly rushed over; a shawl clutched in her hands, and knelt by the old man's side. One by one, and then in groups of two or three, others rushed forward. Arthur watched for a few moments before turning to address the assembled serfs once more.

"Now hear me," he said regally. "A vast and terrible army is coming this way. They will show no mercy, spare no one." He paused, letting this sink in. "Those of you who are able should begin to gather your things and move south, towards Hadrian's Wall. Those unable shall come with us." He turned to Ganis and pointed to the man. "You. Serve me now. Gather these people," he said. Ganis nodded.

"Right! You heard him!" he exclaimed. "You go grab enough food and water for the journey. Let's get a hurry on or else we're all dead!"

As Arthur came closer, I grinned and shook my head. Arthur just shook his head in return, his expression asking me why I was so lighthearted when there was an entire army of Saxons creeping closer to us as we spoke. I just shrugged and turned to look at that stone building again, my eyes questioning. Arthur just sighed and shook his head sadly.

That is just an example of how our friendship had grown over the years. We could hold a conversation with our eyes and bodily expressions, asking and responding, comforting, arguing... Though I knew the man would never admit it, I was his closest friend, and he couldn't do without me. I, myself, would gladly admit it to anyone who asked.


	2. Until We Meet Again

Chapter 2! Since there's no reviewers yet, I can't personally thank any of you, but I'm thanking all you future reviewers right now! Thank you!

Enjoy. Fuliciana's in this chapter! Yay! (And there's a flashback! Ooh!)

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Chapter 2: Until We Meet Again

Sometime later, I noticed that some of Marius's monks were rushing to build up the stone wall of the building that Arthur had been staring at earlier. Tristan rode up, and he and Arthur had a conversation while I contented myself with watching the stone wall being built. _What are they doing in there?_ I asked myself.

Suddenly, the sound of pounding Saxon drums reached my ears. I turned back to look towards where the sound was coming from, relieved when I didn't see any Saxons spilling out of the woods. The sound was distant, anyway, but it was still frightening to be a sitting duck in the middle of nowhere, waiting for what seemed like ten thousand damned peasants to hurry up and get moving so we wouldn't _die. _

"Come on, get back to work!" I heard suddenly. I turned and looked at the mercenaries who were standing over the monks, ordering them to hurry up and move faster. I turned to look at Arthur, but he was already riding towards the building, drawing Excalibur. When he reached the mercenaries, he dismounted and stood in front of them.

The two mercenaries stood shoulder to shoulder so Arthur couldn't pass them. Arthur sighed heavily in frustration.

"Move," he said. When his command was met with silence, he repeated it. "Move."

I rode closer to Arthur, figuring that our numbers might intimidate the mercenaries.

"Move!" Arthur growled, not used to having his orders so blatantly refused.

The two mercenaries backed away slowly, and I rode Dalai in close to one of them, so he blew a breath of air into their faces. The mercenaries backed away, disgusted.

"What is this?" Arthur asked the monks, looking very intimidating. One of them made an audible gulping sound, and I failed to suppress a snort of amusement.

"You cannot go in there," he said, sounding as if it were a sin to simply _ask_. "No one goes in there. This place is forbidden."

"What are you doing?" Marius yelled, huffing across the grass towards us. Arthur ignored him and tried to see what was inside.

"Arthur!" I exclaimed. "We have no time!"

"Do you not hear the drums?" Galahad asked incredulously.

Naturally, Arthur completely ignored us and nodded his head in the general direction of the wall.

"Dagonet," he said. Dagonet dismounted his horse after an exchanged glance with Bors, and then he walked towards the wall, his axe in his hand. After a pause to look at Arthur, he swung the axe down, swinging it again and again until the stones crumbled and Dagonet's axe hit a wooden door. I felt my eyebrows rise in surprise, and I looked at Galahad. He just shrugged.

"Key," Arthur said simply to one of the mercenaries who stood nearby, looking like frightened children.

"It's locked," began the mercenary. I was about to say something along the lines of _perhaps that's why he asked you for the key_, but the man, thankfully, continued, giving the Romans more hope for their general intelligence level. "...From the inside."

Arthur nodded at Dagonet, and the man kicked down the door. I smirked and shook my head in awe of the man's brute strength. I could never hope to kick down a door like that.

Everyone was moving towards the door, so I dismounted my horse as Arthur entered, following him quickly.

"Here, you!" I heard Gawain exclaiming as he pushed one of the monks into the dark tunnel that was behind the door. "Go! Move!"

I handed Gawain a torch, trying not to look at the chains and other various instruments of torture that hung from the ceiling. Already, I was getting the feeling that this Marius Honorius was going to fall farther from my favor.

We walked further down the tunnel. We could dimly hear someone chanting at the end of the tunnel, and Arthur moved towards the sound, holding his torch aloft. He held his torch close to the wall, and we all saw a dead man hanging by his wrists, emaciated and practically a skeleton. I looked at Tristan, and for once the man didn't smirk. He just looked at the dead man and shook his head quietly.

"Who are these defilers of the Lord's temple?" asked a voice suddenly, and a monk, looking close to death, stepped out of the shadows, glaring at us.

"Out of the way," I said, shoving him and entering the lighted room from where had come. My eyes widened in shock and horror as I looked around the room. There were men hanging from the walls, quite obviously dead. Then, I saw a woman hanging up there with the men, and my throat closed tight. I had always been known for my love of women, but no one other than Arthur understood my love for the gender in general. The fact that these Roman beasts had starved and tortured _women_ just disgusted me to no end.

"The work of your God," I said bitterly to Arthur, sneering. "Is this how he answers your prayers?"

Arthur just looked away, clearly very angry in general with Marius and the monks. I knew that Arthur never liked to see anyone suffer, despite the face that most Romans seemed to enjoy it, and I knew that Arthur would take this offence _very _seriously.

"See if there's any still alive," he said. I sighed with exasperation, shifting from one foot to the other nervously. Did Arthur not notice that the Saxons were drawing closer with every wasted moment? Still, I did not say anything, though I highly doubted that there was anything alive.

"How dare you set foot in his holy place!" exclaimed someone suddenly, grabbing my arm. I whirled around and saw one of the monks who had followed us, glaring daggers at me. Before I could think, I jabbed one of my swords into his stomach, my eyes boring into his as he died.

"Daire was a man of God!" exclaimed the emaciated monk with a horrified expression.

"Not my God!" I growled.

"This one's dead!" Dagonet proclaimed from over in the corner, opening a grate in the ground.

"By the smell of it, they're all dead," Gawain said, obviously disgusted. "And you!" He glared at the monks. "You even move, and you join him!" He pointed to the monk I had just killed.

Suddenly, I thought I heard something from over in one corner. The rattling of a chain, maybe. I started to move that way, hoping that I would find someone that might still be alive, but then Dagonet lifted one of the grates and gasped.

"Arthur!" he exclaimed, pulling out a relatively healthy-looking boy. He bent his head close to the boy, his eyes glittering with an emotion that I had never seen in them before. "You must not fear me," he said.

I remembered the chain, and I walked over to one of the grates, peering inside. Behind me, I heard Arthur's breath hitch in a ragged gasp, and as I turned, I saw that he had found something. He cut down the grate and crawled a little way into the small enclosure, reaching his hands out to someone. I turned to regard the grate again, and I held up my torch, my heart leaping to my throat as I saw a woman staring at me, her eyes filled with tears. Her face was broken and bloody, but still I saw how beautiful she was, and how familiar.

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_I charged forward, yelling with fury as Arthur fell, clutching his side. He looked up at me, and his mouth opened, but I ran past him, knowing all too well that he would tell me to let him finish his own battles if I stopped. _

_I dove onto the Woad, my sword scraping across his bare chest. He hollered in pain and flung me off of him, ready to stab me, but I rolled and pushed myself up, watching out of the corner of my eye as Galahad and Gawain drag a now-unconscious Arthur out of the way of the battle._

_"Foolish boy," sneered the Woad, but I did not let his over-confidence unnerve me. I just deflected his next thrust, and dodged out of the way of his second, kicking his chest and sending him reeling. He didn't fall over, though, and in the next moment he was back up, swinging at me furiously. _

_For the first time, I allowed myself to be frightened, and it was nearly the end of me. When he saw my confident mask slide off, exposing the frightened boy beneath, he thrust his sword into my side. I fell onto my back and stared up at him, unable to help the tears that sprang to my eyes. _I am sorry, Vilensia, _I thought, thinking of my dear, sweet sister. _I will not return. I broke my promise to you.

I reached down and tightened my fingers around the amulet that Vilensia had given me when I left for Briton, ten years before. I glanced around me, and suddenly I saw a woman looking at me from a nearby tree, shrouded in the shadows of the leaves. Her chestnut hair fell in waves down her face, which was spectacular in itself. I could see none of her body, as it was hidden in the trees, but judging by the beauty of her face, I guessed that it was amazing as well.

_Perhaps the best feature of this apparition was that her eyes were leaking with tears. For me, I assumed, since she was staring me in the eyes with a look of pure sadness and fear. I wanted to reach up and wipe the tears away, but I could not, and so I did what I thought was the next-best thing. _

_I reached my sword arm up and stuck it through the Woad's leg. Suddenly, I heard a scream cutting through the air, and my eyes flew back up to the tree. She was staring at the Woad, her eyes full of horror and pain, and I suddenly realized that those tears had not been for me. They had been for the Woad. _

_I felt the darkness approaching, so I let my body do what it wanted as I closed my eyes, and I shook with a heavy sob before I was completely engulfed with black. _

_The next thing I felt was a gentle hand feeling through my curls. I thought, at first, that it was Arthur, but then I heard a soft voice whispering something in a tongue that I did not understand. I opened my eyes, unable to suppress the shiver of fear and cold that shook through me. _

_The woman hovered above me, an angel on a battlefield filled with death. Her hand ceased its soothing, and she smiled down at me, filling my soul with peace and happiness. _

_"Live well," she whispered, and she laid her soft brown cloak over my body. I felt my eyes slide closed, though I longed for them to remain open so I could continue to look at this very essence of beauty that hung over me. "Until we meet again, Sir knight."_

* * *

Could it be her? Was it possible that this thin, broken form that was huddled on the floor was that same woman who had protected me five years before? I did not dare to hope.

"Please," the woman sobbed brokenly, so quietly that I could hardly hear her. She seemed on the brink of death, and for a long moment, I debated whether or not I should help her at all, but then she implored me to help again, and my heart melted. I stood and violently cut down the grate.

"Found something?" asked Tristan, crouching beside me and peering into the darkness. His eyes narrowed and he looked up at me, shaking his head. "She's a Woad," he said, but it was a statement devoid of any of the usual disgust that normally accompanied the name of our adversaries. I tried to look nonchalant as well, but I felt slightly disappointed inwardly. Of course, if I had taken enough time to actually work out that memory in my head, then I would have realized that there was no other explanation. She was a Woad. Of course, I didn't know if the woman in the dungeon was the same as all those years ago, but it was seeming likely.

"Get her out of there," said Arthur as he walked by, and I saw that he was holding onto a woman as well. Tristan and I exchanged a glance, and then both moved forward, each grabbing one of her arms and pulling her so she slid out of the dungeon on her stomach, her belly scraping the rough stone. She shuddered and clutched me tightly as I lifted her into the air, and I felt the overwhelming desire to hold her close and protect her, though she was a Woad. (As I said before, I had a love of women.)

And so, cradling the girl in my arms as she clutched at me, trembling like a frightened dog, I stepped out into the light.

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So there you have it! Chapter 2! Aren't you getting excited? I know I am!

By the way, I'm working on the sequel during school, and it's turning out okay so far. Lots of flashbacks, which is good, I suppose.

Please review! Pleasepleaseplease!


	3. She's a Woad

Chapter 3! Look for individual thanks at the end.

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**Chapter 3: **She's a Woad

"She's a Woad!" Tristan exclaimed. He was standing near Arthur, looking down at the woman that Arthur had rescued. "They both are!"

"I know," Arthur replied calmly. "Water! Get me some water!"

I lay the woman on the ground gently and took the jar of water that was offered to me. Using one arm to prop her up, I lightly tipped the contents into her mouth. At first, she coughed and sputtered, in obvious pain, but then she relished the cool liquid, wrapping her fingers around mine. It was almost like nursing a child, not that I'd ever nursed a child, but I'd seen the women at the wall do it several times.

Tristan joined me and looked at the girl, his eyes softening for the first time ever in my memory. He gently reached out and pushed a curly lock out of her face, and had to suppress a smile when it bounced back into her eyes.

"I am a Roman officer, you're safe now," said Arthur to the woman he had rescued. The girl I was caring for looked over, and her eyes widened. She whispered something that I didn't catch, her voice so hoarse that I couldn't hide a wince.

She tried to sit, but Tristan and I held her down, though she put up quite a fight. If she were any stronger, she would have probably ended up putting a bruise on one of us, but since she was weak from her torture, she just swatted at us inelegantly.

Suddenly, Marius charged forward, apparently angry.

"Stop what you are doing!" he exclaimed, his face red with anger. Arthur stood to meet him, and Marius practically _stood on his toes _to come anywhere close to being near Arthur's height. The girl sat up slowly, and I held an arm behind her back, my eyes on Marius.

"What is this madness?" Arthur asked, his entire frame still quivering from his immense anger.

"They are all pagans here!" Marius roared, gesticulating in the general direction of my woman, Arthur's woman, and Dagonet's young boy.

"So are we," Galahad said bitterly. Marius only briefly glanced at him before turning his back, facing Arthur.

"They refused to do the task God has set for them!" he said vehemently. "They must die as an example!"

I looked down at the woman I had rescued, and she looked into my eyes, her expression unreadable, but heartbreaking. She shuddered and looked away, and I was suddenly filled with pity despite my extreme hatred for anything remotely related to Briton. After all, the woman may have saved my life.

"You are a Roman!" Marius exclaimed indignantly. "You understand! And you are a Christian!"

He shot a look filled with immense hatred in the woman's direction. Tristan and I both started with surprise, ready to defend the woman if the need arose. Somehow, I knew that Tristan was ready to defend her for all the right reasons, while I was ready to defend her for all the wrong. Tristan was doing it because she was a weak woman, a person, but I was doing it because she was beautiful, Woad or not.

Suddenly disgusted with myself, I looked up at Tristan and saw him looking back at me, almost calculating. I forced myself to look away, and I looked instead at Arthur and Marius.

"You!" Marius growled, pointing a chubby finger at his wife and stalking towards her. "You kept them alive!"

As he moved closer to the woman, the girl I was protecting tried to stand, whimpering something and glancing at me imploringly. I kept her down, wrapping my arms firmly around her, and she whimpered with desperation, trying to pull away.

As soon as Marius struck his wife, my woman gave a sigh and went limp with relief. I then realized that Arthur's woman must have meant something to her, as Marius's wife had been standing near Arthur's woman when she had been slapped. It would have been natural for her to assume, in her disoriented state, that Marius

had been heading for Arthur's woman.

Before anyone could do anything about Marius or his wife, who wasw now lying on the ground, clutching her face, Arthur strode across the short distance separating he and Marius and punched the man in the face brutally, his fist connecting with a thud. Marius sprawled on the ground limply, and I couldn't prevent the guilty smile that spread across my face.

In the next moment, Arthur pulled Excalibur out of its sheath and pointed it at Marius's throat with a sneer of defiance. Marius stared up at him, shaking with terror, and Arthur stared down, his face devoid of any boastful pride that would have been present on mine in such an occasion.

Marius's mercenaries started to move forward, but Marius waved them off frantically.

"No! No! Stop!" he exclaimed, and the mercenaries froze. Then, Marius looked Arthur in the eyes defiantly. "When we get back to the wall, you will be punished for this heresy," he growled. Arthur looked down on the piggish man with his eyes flashing.

"Perhaps I should kill you now and seal my fate," he said, and I nodded appreciatively. Arthur certainly had a way of looking intimidating.

"I was willing to die with them," said a voice suddenly from my right. I turned and looked, and saw the emaciated monk standing there, staring down at the woman I had rescued. She whimpered and tried to back away, but I kept my hold on her, glaring at the monk, hoping that all of my disgust and hatred for him was present in my gaze.

I dimly heard Tristan whispering to the woman, but I didn't turn to look, too immersed in watching the events in front of me. I just tightened my grip on the girl and sent her a comforting look; surprised to see her gazing at Tristan as if he were the sun and she had been living in darkness for years.

Before I could help myself, I felt a scowl forming on my face. Quickly, I banished it into the remote corner of my mind reserved for envy, and turned back to Arthur, barely hearing his order to wall the monks back up.

I looked down at the woman, trying to remember her face from five years ago, trying to find out if it really _was_ her that night. She looked so like the woman from that battle, but I didn't know if it was. She was certainly showing no sign of recognizing me. (Though, I suppose, she was in so much pain from her wounds and was so disoriented that she probably wouldn't have recognized me even had I been her lover then.)

"Lancelot," said Arthur suddenly. I looked up and saw him looking at me, his eyes rapidly softening as he saw the pretend innocent/ really guilty expression that flashed across my face. He _almost _smiled. It wasn't quite a smile, but it was almost a smile. "Take her to a carriage. Dagonet, you get the boy."

Arthur walked over to where his woman still lay on the ground, shivering in the cold. He gently lifted her up, and moved towards the caravan of carriages. I picked my girl up, and I followed Dagonet, who was following Arthur, holding the young boy in his arms.

I looked down, and saw that she was looking up at me, her eyes wide. She seemed to be examining me; looking me over for flaws, and it was a feeling that I didn't like. It made me feel...exposed, somehow, as if by looking into my eyes, she was seeing every part of me that I hid beneath my overconfident exterior.

I suddenly felt angry, and I looked away, my eyes following Arthur. I felt the woman go limp in my arms, and for a horrifying moment I thought that she had died. A quick check revealed that she was still breathing, but her beautiful eyes were closed, and her face was a mask of open pain, her mouth set in a grimace.

I gently lay her on the pile of blankets that Marius's wife had hurriedly set up for her, vaguely noticing that Arthur and Dagonet had quickly left. As soon as they were gone, I gently reached out my hand and let my fingers trail through her hair. The familiar feeling sent shivers up my spine, and I quickly withdrew my hand.

Was it right to be lusting after a Woad? After all, over half of my life had been devoted to killing the blue warriors of Briton. How could I possibly be feeling the same feelings for a savage that I felt for the peasant women who lived at the wall?

Still, my hand reached out again, slowly and hesitantly caressing the curls that framed her beautiful, blood-caked face.

"Until we meet again," I whispered, disgusted with myself and angry with this woman who made me question the only thing that I had ever been sure of: Woads were vile, disgusting people, no better than the accursed Romans.

But still, as I left the carriage, I gave her another long look, memorizing how she looked in that very moment; tragic and beautiful, and I knew that the next weeks would be spent _very _close to that carriage.

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There you have it! Chapter 3! Yay!

**Individual thanks:**

**Mustang Gal: **Thanks so much! I've never seen a long Lancelot Perspective fic of an OC, but I hadn't really noticed it until you brought it up. Well...I'm glad to be one of the first (if not the first.) Thanks again for your review!

**Shocktober: **Well, I hope you keep reviewing, because I _love _reading your reviews! You give me so much self-confidence! I was hoping I'd capture Lancelot the way he was in the movie, and I'm glad you think I did. (His rage when a woman is hurt just seemed natural, since he seemed to love just about every woman he came in contact with.) Him being sensitive and not quite open with his feelings just seemed right to me, because in the movie he was always taking these long, drawn out pauses and staring into the fire and such, so I guessed that the cocky, brash Lancelot we all loved wasn't the _real _Lancelot. (By the way, my stories are like chocolate? I've never heard that before, but that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me! That's two in a row! You're breaking records left and right!)

**Camreyn: **I' m glad you like the idea! About the reading emotions thing: I don't know if I added some accidental reading-emotions in there, because I'm so used to writing Fuliciana's POV, and she's good at reading emotions, but there _is _a reason for it all. In the scene when they're in the dungeon and Lancelot's talking about Arthur's reaction and how he knows that Arthur isn't going to like it all: Lancelot spends a lot of time watching Arthur, you're going to find out, because he loves Arthur (In a Non-slash way) and thinks that Arthur's a really good guy. (In my revised edition of Sister of Guinevere, there's a whole conversation between Lancelot and Fuliciana, which includes Arthur and how great Lancelot thinks he is.) So, I'll try to make it clearer in the future. Thanks for pointing that out!

**SwashSwashBuckleBuckle: **Love the name! Does it have anything to do with the gag reel of the Pirates of the Caribbean? I distinctly remember Orlando saying 'Swash swash, buckle buckle'. But anyway, more to the point: I'm glad you like it! I'm actually writing the sequel on a notepad during classes. So far, its pretty juicy. There's a lot of Lancelot/Fuliciana cute flirtatiousness so far. (I just couldn't help myself!) Thanks for reviewing, and I hope you liked this chapter!

**Jemiul: **Glad you liked! I'm moving along pretty quickly with this story! I actually get more writing done during the weekdays than I do during the weekends, which is odd, but I guess it works! I'll be sure to update soon! Thanks for reviewing!

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Well, that's all! On to writing chapter 4! Now we get to see Lancelot's take on the little argument they have! Yay!


	4. Joking on a Sickbed

This chapter took _way _longer than I thought it would! So sorry about the delay! Red Sox are in the playoffs, so I've been watching them a lot at night. (In fact, I'm watching them now!) I promise I'll try to work faster, though!

Look for individual thanks at the end!

Just a little note: I made some pictures for Sister of Guinevere, Lancelot and Fuliciana, Tears of a Warrior(the sequel), Love?, and a random one called Woman of Briton using PaintShopPro. They're blends, and they're kind of cool. White Truffle loved them, anyway! (Yeah Syerri!) If you want to see them, just tell me, and I'll e-mail them to you. (E-mail me at )

Enjoy!

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**Chapter 4: Joking on a Sickbed**

For several days, the woman did not awaken. I found from Arthur that her name was Fuliciana, and that the other was Guinevere, her sister. Arthur became unwillingly close to Guinevere when he helped reset her fingers, which had been dislocated in torture, apparently.

I spent much of my time near the carriage, as I had predicted, under the guise that I was guarding it. The only one who seemed to see through this excuse was Tristan. He approached me once as I sat beneath a tree in the dark.

"Why is it that you 'lower yourself' to guarding the carriage?" he asked me. "You have never given up an opportunity to ride with Arthur at the front of the line."

I shrugged with a grin and looked at the carriage.

"They're women, Tristan," I said; the only explanation needed."

"Ah, so you admit it, then," Tristan said. "Funny, I'd have thought you would have dubbed them Woad beasts and have wanted them thrown out in the snow to die."

I looked away from Tristan and felt my grin fading with embarrassment. The thought actually had crossed my mind once or twice, but throwing two defenseless women, not to mention a little boy, out into the snow, was cruel even if they were Woads. I had, however, asked Arthur to leave behind the multitude of serfs that he had decided to travel with, but Arthur wasn't listening to my pleas. (Not surprising, considering he hardly ever listened to my ideas.)

When I looked back up to see if Tristan was still staring at me eerily, I saw that he was already making his way over to the fire. I sighed and shifted my weight, making myself more comfortable.

"Stupid bloody...Tristan," I muttered to myself. "Why does he always have to be so right?"

* * *

The morning after that, I was riding outside the carriage when I head Marius's wife talking. I had never before heard the woman speak, so I moved closer, listening.

"You're awake!" she exclaimed joyously. "Sooner than we could hope!"

"How long have I been ill?" asked another voice, soft and melodious. My heart skipped a beat as I listened to Fuliciana speak.

"Days," responded Marius's wife. "You had a fever, and were calling out in your sleep for your sister. She, fortunately, is on the road to recovery."

There was a pause, and then Fuliciana replied with: "And I?"

"You're getting close," Marius's wife replied. I turned around briefly to look, and I saw Fuliciana sitting up in bed. Her face was the only part of her that had been cleaned, and she looked even more beautiful than before, though I had not thought that possible. There was a bruise beneath her left eye, which made me tremble with anger.

"What about the boy?" she asked suddenly, and I was forced to look away to guide my horse. "Lucan. Is he all right?"

"He will recover," Dagonet replied. Fuliciana whispered something in reply that I didn't catch.

"We are going to the wall," said Marius's wife suddenly. "Arthur and his knights saved us from the Saxons."

"Saxons?" Fuliciana asked, but she didn't seem all that afraid. In fact, it seemed as if she were making light conversation over a warm breakfast, instead of on the run from murderous hoards of angry Saxon beasts.

"They are coming from the north," Marius's wife explained. "A great army."

"And what of the Romans?" Fuliciana asked, the sneering in her voice surprising me a great deal, but not necessarily displeasing me. "Will they stand and defend Briton, or will they let it rot in the hands of the beasts?"

I grinned and nodded my head appreciatively, though I must have looked like a great fool to the peasants who were gathered around. To them, I looked as if I were nodding at nothing.

I did not hear anyone reply to Fuliciana's question, but she said something a few moments later.

"Of course not," were her words. "It is only fitting, I suppose, that they take our land from us, only just to say that they own it, and then they flee, leaving us to clean up the mess." There was a pause. "And what of the knights?" she asked. I saw my opportunity to join the conversation.

"We will go home," I said. Fuliciana turned and looked at me, and at once I felt as if my entire body was on fire from her gaze. It was so piercing and reading, yet soft and caressing, that I didn't want to ever look away. I forced myself to keep talking. "At least, some of us will."

"I was not asking where you would go next," Fuliciana said harshly. "I was stating how utterly...Roman it is to force young men into service for half their lives for absolutely nothing."

I shook my head and turned back to face the front, because Dalai was acting up.

"It is _very _Roman," I said quietly. There was no response. I turned back to look at Fuliciana and saw that she was staring at Guinevere with a look that clearly screamed: _wake up so I'll know what to do!_ I grinned at her, and she turned to look at me, a scowl on her face when she saw my smile. She leaned back across the pillow and folded her arms across her chest, looking away. I let my gaze travel over every ridge of her face, before turning back to the front and closing my eyes, trying to pull up the image of her, lying on the blanket of furs, after I had rescued her from the dungeon. For some reason, that image was always replaced with the image of her sneering at me.

A hand reached up and patted my hand, which rested on Dalai's reins. I refocused my eyes and saw Arthur standing beside my horse, not looking at me, as he walked to the carriage. I turned to watch him almost protectively, though there was still no threat of him being harmed.

"Arthur!" exclaimed Dagonet from inside the carriage. "Back so soon?"

"Yes, Dagonet," Arthur said, turning his tired gaze on me before turning it on Fuliciana, who sat regarding Arthur with wide eyes. "I saw that the other was awake." He paused. "Fuliciana, is it?"

There was no response from Fuliciana except a nod and a narrowing of the eyes.

"You are a brave girl, Fuliciana," Arthur said, the awe clear in his voice. I looked at Fuliciana again, this time noticing how she gripped the fur with her knuckles tightly, and how her chin quivered slightly as she looked up at Arthur. I also noticed that she had tears in her eyes, which was something that I had not expected to see from her, the way she was acting only moments before.

Fuliciana looked at me, and was clearly surprised to see me returning the gaze. She looked away quickly, but her eyes darted back several times before she finally rested her gaze on Arthur.

Arthur turned and placed a hand on Dagonet's shoulder, and then stepped off the carriage. I turned to look at him questioningly, not quite sure why he had gone into the carriage in the first place. Arthur shrugged in reply and glanced once back towards Fuliciana, his eyes sad. I nodded, understanding that Arthur had felt pity for Fuliciana, and had wanted to check up on her to see if she was coping well with her memories of torture. Apparently, she wasn't.

I dismounted Dalai, telling a peasant to watch him and make sure he didn't get away. Then, I stepped up onto the carriage, grinning at Dagonet as I went.

"So," I said to Fuliciana casually, tilting my head to one side again. "Arthur finds you brave?"

I longed to tell Fuliciana that I thought her brave as well, but my mouth would not open to say that (after all, she was a Woad), and instead I waited for her to reply.

"You'd be better to ask him," Fuliciana replied with a cool calm that surprised me. "I don't read minds."

I laughed and glanced at Dagonet, my eyes asking if he was listening to our conversation, and if he was finding it as amusing as I was. Of course, Dagonet and I had not established the eye-to-eye communication that Arthur and I had mastered so completely, so Dagonet just looked back at me blankly.

I opened my mouth to say something (though, truthfully, I did not even know at the time what I was going to say), but Tristan entered the carriage next and saved me from saying something ridiculously stupid. Of course, Tristan, being Tristan, knew this, and he smiled smugly at me.

"Tristan!" I exclaimed heartily, grinning. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be out tracking?"

"Not now," said Tristan, waving a hand as he brushed past me, nearly causing me to lose my balance. The carriage was becoming very cramped with all the people in it, so I had to stand further back, nearer to Guinevere than to Fuliciana.

I couldn't suppress the pang of jealousy that shot through me then, though I tried my hardest. I kept repeating to myself that she was a Woad, and that I had spent fifteen years killing people of her kind, but nothing would let me forget the look she had given me when I was carrying her to her carriage. How could I ignore it when a woman who was so obviously able to fend for herself looked at me with large, pleading eyes? I assured myself that I would like to see the woman in one of the traditional Woad fighting costumes, and that what I was feeling was a natural lust, and nothing more.

"Thank you for helping me," Fuliciana said, without a glance in my direction. I muttered something under my breath angrily, and both she and Tristan turned to look at me, their eyebrows raised.

"Anyone with a heart would have done it," Tristan said, narrowing his eyes and staring at me for a moment longer before turning back around to look at Fuliciana.

"Or eyes," I remarked to Dagonet under my breath. Dagonet nodded solemnly in agreement.

"You won't have eyes if I gouge them out with my knife, now will you?" Fuliciana asked, pulling a knife from beneath the blankets. I smiled and nodded; obviously, this woman was a true woman of Briton, though I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

"I don't think we need to be gouging anyone's eyes out," said Tristan placidly with a small chuckle. "Besides, Lancelot is one of the best fighters. You go killing him and about half your protection is gone."

"My _protection_?" Fuliciana asked incredulously, smiling only slightly. "I don't need any man to protect me, Sir Tristan. I am a woman of Briton."

I chuckled. "You certainly needed our protection in the temple," I said, raising my eyebrows suggestively. Fuliciana just stared at me, her face flushing red with either anger of embarrassment. I took a guess that it was anger.

If you were speaking to me when I had not just suffered long days and nights of endless torture, then perhaps you would see that I am a capable fighter," Fuliciana said with her jaw clenched tight. "In fact, I think I could kill you even now if I desired."

I grinned broadly, happy by this sudden turn of events. I was working my magic as usual, and I could see that my charm and wit was working even on a Woad woman. Not that my charm ever failed.

"_If _you desired," I asked, one eyebrow rising suggestively.

"_If _I desired," replied Fuliciana, sounding slightly seductive despite herself.

"And what _do _you desire, Fuliciana," I asked, tilting my chin up only slightly. She tilted her chin up as well in an unconscious symbol of competition.

"Many things, Sir Lancelot, none of which I wish to be sharing with you."

"Oh?" I asked, tilting my head to one side, but Fuliciana turned away from me, looking instead to Tristan. This time, the pang of jealousy was like a stab.

"Did I hear you were a tracker?" she asked. I chuckled under my breath, ignoring the glare that Tristan sent me.

"The best," Dagonet offered.

"The best?" Fuliciana asked, smiling. (I realized, then, that her smile was the most gorgeous thing I had ever seen.) "Well, I'm glad you're here, then. The Gods know when I might need your tracking skills to protect me."

Tristan shifted his weight, which, for normal men, meant that he was uncomfortable. You could never quite tell with Tristan, though, since the man was hardly normal.

"I meant no offence by that comment, lady," he said softly.

"No offense was taken, Sir knight," Fuliciana replied with an easy shrug. "I was simply joking."

"Joking on a sickbed?" I asked, nearly desperate to regain my foothold in the conversation. "You _must _be getting better."

"Anything is better than what I was like before," Fuliciana pointed out.

"Actually," I said casually, leaning forward slightly. "I think I liked you better like that."

Fuliciana's eyes widened, and she actually had to suppress a shiver. I grinned, thinking about how she had looked at me when I was carrying her out of the dungeon, like I was some kind of god.

"To think," she said calmly, her eyes narrowing as she looked at me out of the corner of her eye, though her face was turned towards Tristan. "It takes a woman at her weakest point to make him feel strong. Pitiful."

I chuckled and leaned back casually, tilting my head to one side. I noticed with admiration that she didn't look away, but stared into my eyes with an unconscious determination that I matched willingly.

"Oh, pitiful, is it?" I asked, chuckling. "And tell me. Why am I pitiful?"

"Do you really want me to tell you in front of your fellow knights?" she asked, one eyebrow raising and the corners of her mouth twitching up in a smile.

A jolt of fear stabbed through my heart, though I didn't exactly know what she might say that would make me uncomfortable in any way. What would she have to say? Would she tell them that I wasn't really the cocky bastard that I acted to be? If she did, I highly doubted that either of the two knights would care. Both of them probably already sensed that I wasn't a cocky bastard, and even if they didn't, they would probably like me better for it, if they believed Fuliciana at all.

"Oh, so now you think you know me better than Tristan and Dagonet?" I asked with a laugh.

Fuliciana continued to look at me, and she shook her head ever so slightly, her grin smug.

"The bandage on my arm is coming undone," she remarked to Marius's wife, who had been sitting quietly beside Fuliciana during this entire ordeal.

"I shall fix it, Fuliciana," the woman remarked with a sigh. "Please, knights, the lady is ill. If you are finished with your talking, then I ask you to leave."

There was a short pause, just enough for me to notice, before Tristan replied.

"I shall take my leave," he said, bowing his head slightly in Fuliciana's direction, causing her to smile up at him, only slightly seductively. Tristan turned and looked at me, only the hint of a confident grin on his face, before he walked out of the carriage, calling foe his horse.

I hesitated, reluctant to leave Fuliciana for more than a moment. I was beginning to become attracted to this woman, simply because she was unlike any that I had ever met. The women at the wall were all either meek or outgoing only when trying to get one of us knights to sleep with them. Fuliciana was...different. She argued with me just as willingly as any man, using her womanly charm only when it was advantageous. At least, that was my general opinion. I did not know if it was true or not, but it was a guess that improved my opinion of the woman greatly.

But then, I remember that crucial, damned fact: Fuliciana was a Woad.

"Then I will as well," I said quietly. "Goodbye, Fuliciana."

I paused for a moment, hesitating. Then, I turned and looked at Fuliciana. She was looking back at me, waiting for me to leave.

"Until we meet again," I said, my eyes narrowed, focused intently on hers.

Her eyes widened more than usual, and her mouth opened with an absolute shock that was frightening. As I watched her, her emotions written plainly on her face, it was hard for me to tell myself that she was a Woad, and I forgot once again, and she was simply a woman in my eyes once again.

I walked out of the carriage and waited until I was on my horse before I looked back at her. I saw that she was looking down at her hands, her eyes wide, obviously thinking about something. I liked to think that she was thinking of me, but I couldn't be too sure.

Was it her? I still wasn't sure, but after her reaction when I had repeated those words to her that she had said (if it was her) those five years ago, I was beginning to think that it _was _her.

* * *

**Thanks:**

**SwashSwashBuckleBuckle:** I thought it was really cute too! My sister and I played it over and over again. I'm glad you liked the chapter, and I hope you liked this one too! Sorry it took so long.

**White Truffle:** Haha, I love your reviews. I started writing Sister of Guinevere RIGHT when I got home from seeing King Arthur, because I was SO upset that Lancelot died. Writing these stories is mending a broken heart too!

**Jemiul:** Yeah, Lancelot's a bit jealous of Tristan, and I predict that he's going to get even _more _jealous soon!

**Camreyn: **Yeah, I put the whole 'my woman' thing in there because Lancelot's very possessive of Fuliciana later on in the story, and especially in the sequel, and I figured it was a natural reaction for him. The whole Tristan/Fuliciana thing...Tristan already has a thing for Fuliciana, and though he may not spend as much time talking to her as Lancelot does, he watches her a great deal. (Remember when he was listening to Fuliciana talk to her father?) So, he kind of falls in love with her, but he lets Lancelot have her (for reasons that will come out in the sequel). Fuliciana, on the other hand, is a little confused about her feelings for Tristan. That will come out in the sequel as well. Basically, a lot of things will be solved in the sequel.


	5. Wine and Ale

Here's chapter 5! Individual thanks at the end!

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**Chapter 5: Wine and Ale**

It was later that night when I walked towards the carriage, not even thinking about Fuliciana for the first time that day, but about Arthur and how he kept looking back at Guinevere. (It made me feel slightly jealous, you see, that Arthur was spending so much time worrying about the woman, because he hardly listened to anything I said.) I was intending on finding a nice tree to settle under for the night, though I would have preferred a warm bed like the one that Fuliciana was in. (In fact, I wouldn't have minded having Fuliciana in the warm bed with me.)

I was walking past Fuliciana's carriage, clutching my lion amulet, which hung around my neck, when I happened to glance over and see a orange/yellow glow coming from within. I looked closer, and my eyes widened with awe as I stared at Fuliciana, who was being bathed by Marius's wife.

For the first few seconds that I stood there, I tried to remind myself that Fuliciana was a Woad, and that she wasn't a person to be lusting after. The longer I looked, though, the harder it became to look away. My eyes traveled over her body, devouring her beauty like a starved man. I imprinted her image in my mind, memorizing every bit of her.

As my eyes traveled up to hers, I saw that she was looking at me, her eyes wide with surprise. She made no move to cover up, however, though pretty much everything was covered up already. I hurriedly turned and resumed my walking, inwardly berating myself for standing there so openly and staring at her.

I didn't get far before I was forced to turn and look, my instincts taking control. Fuliciana was still watching me, but I let my eyes roam over her once more, before I finally turned and walked further away from the carriage.

I plopped to the ground not far from where I had stood moments before, hidden in the shadows so that Fuliciana would not see me. The view wasn't as good as it had been, but I still gazed at her, my chin propped up in my hand. My hand clutched the lion amulet, and I tried not to think of my dear, innocent sister while I was looking at this Woad woman, so filled with desire.

The reminder that Fuliciana was, in fact, a Woad, brought me back to reality, and I looked away from her, instead looking down at my amulet, which I always wore around my neck. It reminded me of home, and of my sister, Vilensia.

She had given it to me when I had left Sarmatia, those fifteen long years before. I had promised her and the rest of my family that I would return, and I had survived long enough for it to seem possible, unbelievably. The thought that I might have the chance to see my father or sister again had been too impossible, to me, to even consider, but now it seemed as if it was actually going to happen.

I tucked the lion amulet back into my tunic, staring out into a fire that was behind one of the carriages. It had always intrigued me that no matter how far away a fire was, if I was given a moment's rest, I would find it and stare at it. Fire intrigued me. (In fact, when I was younger, I burned my finger when I tried to catch the flame of a candle.)

I sighed heavily and turned towards the carriage, once again ignoring the fact that Fuliciana was a dirty Woad beast. I was hoping for a glance of her again, but as I was turning, I saw a movement in the woods. I turned and saw Guinevere walking into the woods, looking over her shoulder at Arthur who stood behind her a bit. They were walking into the woods, further from camp than they should have been. My mind filled with all sorts of horrible images, not the least of which was the two of them kissing passionately in the snow.

I stood and debated whether or not to go into the woods after them. After a moment, however, I decided that if Arthur ever found me following him, he would distance himself from me even farther than he had already, which was a substantial amount. So, instead, I hurried off to find Dagonet or one of the other knights, to inform them of what was going on, so that maybe they could keep an ear out with me. (Two was better than one for this job.)

As I was walking furiously towards the fire where Dagonet sat with the young boy, Lucan, I saw Fuliciana walking in the opposite direction; though stalking might be a more appropriate word. I hurried after her, desperation mounting in my chest as I thought of Arthur, alone and without anyone to watch his back.

"Fuliciana!" I called out, moving towards her. She spun around, a knife in her hand, already moving into a fighting stance. Once she saw that it was I, however, she hid the knife beneath her cloak once again, so swiftly that I hardly saw the movement.

"What is it?" she asked, concerned and looking as if she was ready to take on anything that might have threatened me. I grinned despite myself. It was clear that Fuliciana felt the same thing for me as I did for her though neither of us was quite sure exactly what that was.

"What does your sister want with Arthur?" I asked, trying to put as much anger as I possibly could into my voice. "Why is she leading him into the woods?"

"She's leading him into the woods?" Fuliciana asked, looking mildly surprised. I sighed and shook my head, turning to go. After all, if she wasn't going to be able to answer me, then I had to find someone who would watch for Arthur with me. Fortunately, I didn't have to, because she began to speak. "I believe she is taking him to see our leader," she said gently. I looked at her and blinked in surprise.

"Why?" I asked angrily, beginning to feel more than just slightly afraid for Arthur.

"I do not know," she said, looking deep into my eyes. I felt a tingling sensation, like she was looking into my very soul and seeing all the thoughts that I was trying to keep from her at that moment. _Why can't I read people's bloody emotions? _I thought to myself. _It would save me _so _much trouble._

I kept staring at her, only because there was no way I was going to let her force me to look away. Her eyes stared into my very soul, and I longed to look away, or maybe I wanted to look into her eyes forever, but either way, my eyes were burning because of hers.

"Do not be afraid," she whispered, still looking into my eyes, this time with a frown on her beautiful face. Not for the first time, I wished that she'd smile more. She was a beautiful woman either way, but especially when she smiled.

"I'm not..." I started, smirking, but she interrupted me by stepped forward, remarkably close to me. I considered taking half-a-step backwards, but that would look weak and foolish, so I stayed where I was standing.

"You love Arthur," she said, as if she were telling me how to feel and what to think. "You love him like your own brother. You love him as your best friend." Here, her expression softened, and her hand rested on my arm for a brief moment. "Do not worry. He will not be harmed."

I nodded, feeling as if a great weight had just been lifted off of my shoulders. I turned to go, wondering in my head if I should trust her word, or if I should still find someone else to watch out for Arthur with me. Then, I turned back, facing her with no small amount of determination.

"I would give my life for him," I said, looking deep into her eyes and trying to see in her what she had seen in me. All I could see was that her eyes widened slightly, and then narrowed, and she nodded gravely. "If he asked for it, I would give my life."

Fuliciana nodded and smiled only slightly, almost wistfully as her eyes darted to the trees behind me and back to my face.

"He is a good leader," she said. I nodded gravely.

"He is a better friend," I said reluctantly, turning and looking over my shoulder at the woods. I was longing for their darkness, their camouflage, for the first time in my fifteen years of a servant of Briton. I wanted the darkness to cover me and hide me from her damned, soul-searching eyes.

She looked at me, and once again I felt as if she was seeing me, really seeing me, like no one else ever did or ever tried to do. The look she gave me was one that softened my heart. She was sad for me. She felt pity. Usually, I hated when I sensed pity in other people, but Fuliciana seemed different somehow.

"Thank you for rescuing me," she said softly, hanging her head as if she were a child apologizing for something. I half expected her to shuffle her feet.

Something about that statement made me remember that she was a Woad, and I felt sick, almost, that I had told my biggest secret, though really, it wasn't that big, to a Woad. And yet...she could be kind and caring when she wanted to be, from what I had seen so far, so maybe, just maybe, she was a...nice Woad? I pondered that for a moment, but then Fuliciana looked at me with such hatred that I completely lost my train of thought.

"I will go now," she growled angrily, looking at me with her eyes narrowed dangerously. This sudden change of moods surprised me, to say the least, and I opened my mouth, half to protest and half because I didn't know what in hell was going on. As if to answer me, Fuliciana moved a step closer, sneering in my face. "We bleed just like you do, sir Lancelot," she said, enunciating her words _very _clearly. "When we are stabbed, we die. When we lose one we love, we cry. Just like you."

Then, before I could say anything, she turned and stalked off into the woods. I considered going in after her, as there were Saxons in the woods, and the last thing I wanted was the death or capture of an innocent woman over my head. (Besides, though I wouldn't have admitted it at the time, as I was angry about her accusation, I didn't want her to get hurt because I was developing an affection for the girl.)

I didn't follow, though, because I knew that she, like Arthur would have been very angry. So, I looked for a good tree to settle under. (Though, as far as I was concerned, the only 'good' place to sleep was in a warm, soft bed with a beautiful woman under my arm) I found the tree I was looking for, hidden in the shadows where no one would see me unless they were looking for me. I made my way over and settled to the ground. It was very uncomfortable, and not for the first time I found myself wishing that I were back at the wall, so I could be in my bed instead of on the damned ground.

I was sitting there, absently running my fingers over my amulet, when Tristan materialized out of the woods like a phantom, his face solemn and hollow in the shadows. I sat up further, staring at Tristan unblinkingly and waiting for him to say what he would say.

"You have made the woman very angry," he said, arching an eyebrow. I sighed.

"I know," I said. "I just...I can't..."

"You can't get past the fact that she's a Woad," Tristan said for me, obviously trying to hide a smile. "Well, everyone else has."

"What do you mean, everyone else?" I asked.

"Well," Tristan said, shrugging. "Arthur, for one. I know he is 'everyone' to you."

I opened my mouth to protest indignantly (though what Tristan said was very true), but Tristan continued.

"And then, I have gotten past that fact. I got past it very early. So did Dagonet."

I was quiet for a while, tapping my fingers on my amulet rhythmically as I looked down at the ground, scowling. Tristan gave a small huff of a laugh and he crouched down next to me, staring me in the eyes intently.

"Some men stick to ale, because it is what everyone else drinks," he stated simply. "But, some men venture to wine, because despite all the taunting they receive about not being able to handle ale, they know that wine simply tastes better."

I looked at the ground, slightly confused. It took me a moment to decipher Tristan's meaning, but when I looked up to reply, he wasn't there anymore.

_So Tristan believes that it is all right to love a Woad? _I thought to myself, almost happily. After all, her being a Woad was the only excuse for me _not _to love her, or at least lust after her. If Tristan and Dagonet and, most importantly, Arthur, thought that it wasn't a bad thing that she was a Woad, then could I, perhaps, allow my feelings for her, whatever they were, to fill me without pushing them away?

I was still thinking, trying to make sense of the words, when suddenly she was beside me, sitting in the snow. I wanted to give her my cloak, but she didn't look cold at all, despite the fact that she was wearing such a thin dress with only a thin cloak over it.

"My father once told me a story of a young knight who was lost in the woods," she started. "He had wandered too far from the rest of the knights, and could not find his way back. He was very young, and had only just arrived from Sarmatia, and he was crying so hard that the Woads took pity on him and brought him to their camp, feeding him and letting him sleep for the night. The next morning, they led him back to the wall safely, and returned to their camp. Early that evening, the young man led the other knights to the Woad camp, and all the Woads were killed."

She leaned back against the tree and looked at me. I looked back, raising an eyebrow. She sat there, watching me, waiting. I sighed.

"My father told me the same story when I was younger," I said with a small cough. It was uncomfortable telling this story to Fuliciana, because she _was _a Woad. "But his story was of a brave young knight who wandered away from his camp and was captured by the Woads. They tortured him, but he escaped, and the next day led the knights to the camp...and all the Woads were slaughtered."

"It's sad how much is lost in the translation," she remarked to me lightly, flashing a dazzling smile in my direction. I smiled hopefully in return, and I thought I saw a small flush creep over Fuliciana's face.

"So which story is the real?" I asked.

"I think if you asked any Woad, they would tell you that my story is the true, but if you asked any Sarmatian, they would say yours."

"So then we will never know?"

"No," I replied. "We will never know."

I chuckled and shifted, noticing that my arm lightly grazed her whenever I breathed. After a small moment of silence, she stood, and turned to go. Suddenly desperate for information, I fumbled for the right words.

"It was you, wasn't it?" I asked. She turned, and her mouth was wide open in apparent shock.

"What was I?" she asked, sounding confused.

"Nothing," I said quickly, waving my hand and placing it to my forehead. "I am sorry, I just..."

"Tell me, Lancelot," she whispered, taking my hand and stroking her thumb along the back of it. "Tell me."

* * *

**Individual thanks:**

**Swashswashbucklebuckle: **God, I love your name! Thanks for not being annoyed with my lack of updating. It's been a long couple of nights. The Red Sox and Yankees can't seem to wrap up a baseball game in nine stinking innings.

**White Truffle: **Aww, so sweet! Have I mentioned that I love your reviews?

**Camreyn: **I like the banter too, so I'm planning on putting a lot of that in the sequel. And, yes, the Red Sox won. Whoo! We're going to the World Series! (And I'm living on about four hours of sleep a night for seven nights in a row!)

**Jemiul: **Yeah, both of them are pretty confused about their emotions. They don't know what they're doing. Silly little Woad and knight!

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**A/N: **Thanks for reading! Anyone wants the pictures, just ask. And, if anyone has any requests, you can ask me...for the price of a review! (heh heh, I'm _sooooo_ evil!) For example, if you want a Troy, X-Men, Dead Poet's Society...anything, really. If I have the time, I'll make it!


	6. No Apologies

Here's chapter 6! That was quick, wasn't it? I certainly think so. I wrote this all last night, in one sitting. (After Survivor!) Now, I'm running on EIGHT hours of sleep! Yes! I feeling a little awake, and ready to face school. (Though, 6:25 in the morning is a bit early to be getting up, I think.)

So, anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please review. You all know how much I love reviews! I know for a fact that some of you are reading and not reviewing! :(

PLEASE? I'd love you forever! And, you'd get to have your name on the individual thanks at the end!

Enjoy!

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**Chapter 6: No Apologies**

I looked at Fuliciana, unsure of whether or not I wanted to share my story with her, since I hardly knew her, and it was one of my greatest secrets. Only Arthur knew of my Woad woman apparition, though I wasn't sure if he really believed me, or if he thought me completely insane.

Then, I looked into Fuliciana's eyes, and I tried hard to see what she was thinking, but I couldn't. It was as if there was a barrier there, blocking me from reading anything. That in itself, however, was a clue that she did not get close to many people, and that she was like me; not having much trust and putting on an act rather than revealing her true self. In my case, it was fear that if I got too close to someone else, they might die and leave me with an empty void in my soul for the rest of my life. Arthur had been the only one who was able to conquer that fear and save me from utter loneliness, becoming the only person I ever truly cared enough about that I would gladly die for.

"Five years ago," I began reluctantly. "There was a raid."

Fuliciana smiled at me, and I was struck speechless by her beauty at that moment. She was beautiful all the while, yes, but the shadows cast her face in mystery, and the wind blowing through the trees blew her hair about her face magnificently, giving her a tragic air.

"There are many raids, Lancelot," she said with a lightheartedness that surprised me, considering her earlier coldness towards me. (That's not to say, of course, that her coldness wasn't deserved.)

I laughed slightly, mostly at my own feelings and at her beauty, but also as her comment.

"In this raid," I said with a pointed glance at her. "The...your people put out all their forces. Well...nearly all. There were twenty of us at the time. Twenty knights, facing three hundred Woads. We didn't have much hope. But Arthur...Arthur was strong, and he told us to charge."

I paused for a moment and drew in a shuddering breath, thinking of how I had huddled next to Arthur, looking up at him fearfully. I felt like a child, then, and as I sat there beneath the tree with Fuliciana beside me, I felt like a child once more. I felt as if that army of Woads was crashing down on me yet again, and I shivered with suppressed fear. To Fuliciana, it may have just looked like a natural reaction to the freezing temperatures, though, with her apparent skill at reading my every emotion, she may have been able to sense it. In any case, her grip tightened on my hand.

"Arthur was injured fighting the Woad commander, and the commander was going to kill him," I said, only slightly breathless, "So I stepped forward and took his place." I paused and looked at Fuliciana, and saw that she was looking back at me intently, any trace of a smile absent from her features. "I didn't...I didn't expect to win, but I fought him for Arthur. He...he cut me down, and I looked up to the trees, ready for him to kill me, and I saw a woman."

I reached up a trembling hand and lightly touched a curly lock that was hanging in front of Fuliciana's forehead. She blushed and looked away, and I let my hand drop.

"A beautiful woman," I said, still staring intently at her, though she refused to meet my eyes. "And I saw...I saw she was crying. For me, I thought. I was suddenly filled with strength, and I stabbed my sword upward, hitting the man who cut me. Then..."

I sighed heavily and looked away from her at last, thinking of that horrible moment. I felt Fuliciana looking at me, and her hand touched my leg, resting there and sending a jolt of warmth through my entire body. I looked into the woods and sighed, shaking my head slightly.

"What is it, Lancelot?" Fuliciana asked, sounding at least mildly concerned. I looked at her, and this time she didn't look away.

"She screamed," I said. "I looked up and saw the horror on her face. I knew immediately that I had thought wrong. That she hadn't been crying for me, but for the man I was fighting. I was...sad. Then...there was darkness."

I hung my head, laughing slightly, and then continued.

"I heard someone talking in a tongue that I did not know when I next awoke. I opened my eyes, and saw the woman sitting above me. She...she reached out and touched my head, and said to me 'live well'. Then, she took off her own cloak and laid it across me to keep me warm. Then she said 'until we meet again, Sir knight', before she vanished into the woods."

I looked at Fuliciana, not daring to allow hopefulness to fill me. I just looked at her, waiting for her reaction. She sighed and reached out, gently touching my hair, her fingers moving through my curls expertly, her eyes intent on mine. Then, she whispered the same thing that the woman had whispered to me five years before, that saying in a different tongue.

"It was my father you fought, Lancelot. Those tears...those tears _were _for you. For your pain. For, you see, Lancelot, we are both slaves to the Romans. Both of us live on lands that the Romans claim to own. We fight one another simply because the Romans tell us to. That day...that day, I was thinking of Romans, and I saw you, and to me, you were beautiful. You were not tainted by the Romans, though you had been their servant for ten years."

"It was you," I said with a great sigh of relief. "I knew, the moment I saw you in the dungeon."

"And the same for me," said Fuliciana with a crooked smile. "I knew it too."

"I have waited five years to see you again!" I exclaimed wondrously. "You have filled my dreams for five years. I never forgot you, though your face faded in time."

Fuliciana smiled, and I felt a small prick of triumph at the back of my mind. Every time I made her smile, it was as if I had won a game of cards.

"The same for me," she said. "It must be fate that we meet up like this."

"Tristan seems to think so," I muttered under my breath. Fuliciana tilted her head and looked at me quizzically. I opened my mouth to explain to Fuliciana about Tristan's wine and ale speech.

"Fuliciana!" came Guinevere's voice suddenly, so harsh and...well...sudden, that Fuliciana started visibly with surprise, and turned around to face Guinevere, her mouth open wide.

"Guinevere!" she exclaimed just as angrily, standing up. I chuckled behind her, and she shot me an angry glare, which softened almost as quickly as it graced her beautiful features.

"I told you to wait for me in the carriage," Guinevere said, her hands placed on her hips sternly. Fuliciana walked away from me, and I sighed heavily, suddenly filled with a great sadness as I thought of the long night that was ahead of me. I just watched Fuliciana go, not even bothering to listen to the argument that she and Guinevere were having. I noted the gracefulness with which she walked. She looked like a born warrior, and I knew that if I ever got close enough to embrace her, she would feel like one as well.

"Goodbye, Fuliciana," I whispered to myself mournfully, sighing slightly as I settled back against the tree, wincing at my over-romanticizing.

"I hear that you and Fuliciana made amends, finally," came a voice out of the darkness. I turned and saw Tristan standing beside me, leaning against the tree casually as he methodically cleaned off his dagger.

"Were you eavesdropping on the entire conversation?" I asked, my eyes still fixed on Fuliciana until she walked into her carriage with Guinevere, shutting the flaps behind her. Then, I turned and looked at Tristan. He, apparently, had been looking at Fuliciana as well, for he only just looked down at me absently, as if surprised that I was still there.

"I suppose I might have been," Tristan said, shrugging. "I didn't know that little bit about the battle. I was surprised. I do remember the cloak, though."

"You ought to," I said coldly. "It was you who threw it into the wind."

Tristan shrugged.

"I was drunk," he said calmly. I snorted derisively in reply, and Tristan arched an eyebrow in mock indignation. "Are you going to explain?"

"What do I need to explain?" I asked, arching my own eyebrow. "You heard everything!"

"Tristan. Lancelot," said a calm voice from in front of me. I looked, and saw Arthur there, an amused half-smile on his face. Tristan bowed his head and walked off, leaving Arthur and I alone. "What did Tristan hear?"

Arthur sat beside me, and I moved over to make room so he could lean his back against the tree.

"I told Fuliciana about the Woad woman I saw," I said quietly. Arthur looked at me questioningly.

"Why?" he asked. "You haven't spoken of her in a very long time. In fact, I had begun to think you had forgotten all about her."

"It was her, Arthur," I said with a sigh. "Fuliciana. She was the woman in the tree."

"What?" Arthur asked incredulously. "And now...five years...it is a miracle."

"I wouldn't go so far as to call it a miracle," I remarked, smiling at Arthur. "It is a coincidence."

"Well, we have never agreed with this matter," Arthur remarked, grinning at me. "Why should we start now? But tell me, did Fuliciana remember you?"

"Yes," I said quickly. "She did."

I thought of how she had lightly touched my hair, staring at me, as if she had been longing to reach out and touch me as I had been longing to reach out and touch her. It was as if we were each touching a dream, only the dream had become a reality.

"So I assume that the...bitterness between you two has ended?" Arthur asked. I looked at him, surprised.

"Who told you?" I asked, grinning.

"I watch you more than you might know, Lancelot," Arthur retorted with a chuckle before turning and looking at the carriage, his emotions displayed clearly on his face. Suddenly, I remembered he and Guinevere going into the woods.

"Arthur!" I exclaimed suddenly. "You..."

"It is nothing I want you to sorry yourself with," Arthur said hurriedly. "It is something that I must think through on my own."

"But..." I began quickly, longing to tell Arthur that I was there for him always, and that whenever he needed me, I'd be there.

"Please, Lancelot," Arthur said, sighing and closing his eyes, suddenly looking older than he had ever looked before. "Please."

"I am sorry," I said quietly, and truly I was. It was not my intention to cause Arthur pain, though I knew that I did it often.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Arthur said, opening one eye and looking at me sadly. "You are my best friend, Lancelot. My brother. Our love is so great that we do not need apologies."

I grinned and shook my head at Arthur's vehemence. He had never spoken like that before, though, and I was slightly worried. He seemed as if he were afraid that it was the last chance he would get to speak to me.

"Arthur..." I began, my grin fading, but Arthur cut me off by holding up a hand sharply.

"No apologies," he said, his gray eyes boring into mine. I wanted to look away, but I did not, out of my love for him.

"No apologies," I replied, attempting a cocky smile but failing miserably. Arthur chuckled, breaking the tense, solemn moment, and he ruffled my hair as he sometimes did when he was feeling overly affectionate.

"Thank you, Lancelot," he said, grinning at me, though I could tell that the grin was not one of happiness. "You always know how to put a smile on my face."

I shrugged with apparent carelessness and tossed Arthur a wild smirk.

"What else would I be here for?" I asked. Arthur gave a glance towards the carriage that held Guinevere and stood.

"Goodnight, Lancelot," he said. "Thank you."

I wasn't exactly sure what he was saying thank you for, but I replied with a standard 'you're welcome'.

Arthur turned and walked into the shadows, surprisingly not going towards the carriage, but away from it. I saw him settle down to sleep beneath another tree, and I longed to walk over to him and ask him if he would mind if we slept under the same tree that night, but I dared not. He had obviously left me for a reason. Perhaps whatever happened between he and Guinevere had left him feeling thoughtful, and he just wanted to be alone.

I settled down deeper and looked over at the carriage, trying to catch a glimpse of Fuliciana. I couldn't see her, though, and I sighed heavily, pulling out my lion amulet. My fingers ran over the familiar curves, and I closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of it. Some nights, I felt as if I could feel the love and warmth radiating off of the amulet, but this night was not one of those nights. It was just a cold piece of wood, and I tucked it back into my tunic, closing my eyes and drifting off into yet another miserable, dream-filled sleep.

* * *

**Individual Thanks:**

**White Truffle:** Awww, I'm glad I made your day better! I'm sorry it was crappy, though! Well, here's the next chapter. Hopefully today isn't crappy for you, but if it is, then this will make it better.

**Camreyn: **Wow! I love long reviews, because then I get to write a long thank you paragraph! I know I enjoyed showing all the different sides of Lancelot. He'll get through his confusion soon and make a choice, though. Poor Lancey! Then, there's Tristan. Tristan's kind of got a teensy crush on Fuliciana. He might be doing an explanation soon on how he got past her Woadness. The Wine and Ale...I have no idea where I got that. I was trying to think of something for Tristan to say that would encourage Lancelot to go after Fuliciana. Then, it just kind of popped into my head.

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I know I didn't give other people a chance to review. Sorry about that, but I have to go to school soon, so I'm kind of rushing to post this chapter. After all, Red Sox are in the World Series! I'm not going to get ANY sleep for at least four more days. Possibly seven! Ugh. Has anyone ever died from lack of sleep?


	7. Respect

Wow, sorry this took SOOO long! I was kind of stuck on where to start this chapter and all that, but I eventually got it out!

I'll try to write more, but since the RED SOX ARE IN THE WORLD SERIES, I might not be writing as much as I'd like. Though, after tonight, the World Series could be OVER. YES!

If you couldn't tell, I'm a little excited. Maybe it's the three hours of sleep that I got last night...

I'm sorry that I teased you with the trailer! I didn't mean to!

Here's 7! No individual thanks, only becasue I'll be late if I do them!

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**Chapter 7: **Respect

The next morning, I woke up, and groaned inwardly as I tried to move and felt the soreness in my back. That was what happened when I slept beneath a tree, always, without fail. Not for the first time on the journey, and certainly not for the last, I wished that I were in a warm, soft bed with a woman beside me.

"Sleep well?" asked a familiar, taunting voice from behind me. I didn't even bother to turn. I knew that it was Tristan.

"Like a bloody rock," I muttered.

"Well, that's good news," Tristan said, grinning as he walked by me. "If you find Arthur, tell him that I went off to track."

"I'm sure he'll be surprised," I said sarcastically.

Tristan smirked and sauntered off into the woods to find his horse. I scowled deeper at the sign on his obviously good mood and stood, trying not to grimace when my back and neck cracked loudly.

"Lancelot!" called Galahad suddenly, hurrying up to me. "Arthur wishes to see you." He paused only for a second. "Now."

"Thank you," I said sourly. "I thought he might mean now, but I wasn't sure."

Galahad grinned at me rather than becoming offended like he usually would, and he moved off to join Gawain, who was standing by Galahad's horse. When Galahad reached his friend, he started talking almost immediately, and the two of them rode off to the front of the line, resuming their daily activity of laughing and joking loudly.

I grumbled to myself and moved over to where I could see Arthur staring at me with impatience in his gaze. He was standing with Guinevere, who had her arms crossed over her chest angrily. I walked deliberately slowly to further ignite her anger, but I moved faster when I saw that it was making Arthur angry as well.

"What is it, Arthur?" I asked, trying to keep all of the bitterness and anger out of my tone when I spoke to him. Guinevere just looked on, unblinking, as we spoke. Already, I was beginning to feel uncomfortable in her presence. Remembering the night before, a faint smile touched my lips, and I no longer wondered what the angry glare was for.

"I need to speak with you," Arthur said, sighing slightly as his eyes drifted to the Woad woman. "About..."

"Fuliciana!" yelled Dagonet's voice from behind the carriage we were standing near. Guinevere paused only for a moment before rushing to peer out from behind the carriage, and gasped with fear at what she saw. I frowned and joined her, and Arthur strode to the other side of the carriage to see what was happening.

As I looked out, I had to swallow an involuntary gasp that would have mirrored Guinevere's. Fuliciana was standing with her knife in the neck of one of the Roman soldiers. The rest of them were standing in a circle around Dagonet, their swords drawn and ready to kill him. Marius held the young boy, Lucan, to his chest with a knife pressed against the boy's throat.

"I have the boy!" he reminded Fuliciana, sounding slightly afraid.

"What do I care?" Fuliciana asked with a convincing smirk and a shrug, pulling her knife out of the man's neck. I wondered to myself if she was lying, or telling the truth. "What, do you think my people actually _care _for one another? We're heartless barbarians, Marius! I thought you, of all people, would know that."

I grinned despite the dire situation. She was certainly lying, but obviously Marius couldn't see that. He frowned and looked at her carefully, his eyes squinting as if thinking too hard was giving him a headache.

"Kill her!" he yelled, pointing at Fuliciana with the knife, and my grin faded. Fuliciana had just a moment to look surprised before the Roman soldiers moved forwards, their swords raised.

I started to move forward to help her, already drawing out my swords, but Guinevere put out a hand to stop me. Hurriedly, she grabbed a bow that hung off of the carriage, and she stepped out from behind it, firing an arrow directly into Marius's heart.

Marius groaned in death, dropping the knife, and Lucan ran to Dagonet. Fuliciana had managed to kill one of the Romans, I saw, as I walked out from behind the carriage with a smirk on my face, my blades crossed behind my neck. Arthur followed us, Excalibur drawn.

"Your hands seem to be better," I remarked to Guinevere, gesturing to her bandaged hands. Guinevere just frowned at me and turned to a mercenary that was moving towards Fuliciana. She shot an arrow at his feet, and he backed away hurriedly with his hands raised comically.

Marius's wife was crying over his dead body, and I saw Fuliciana shaking her head with disgust. I couldn't agree more. Marius was a horrible man, in my opinion. Not only did he order the torture of _women, _though they were Woads, but he hit his own woman. Any man who hit his woman was not a man, as far as I was concerned.

Bors rode up on his horse, yelling fiercely.

"Artorius!" he cried, slamming his fist against his chest, his tongue lolling about. He rode his horse close to two of the mercenaries, grinning. "Do we have a problem?" he asked, riding his horse ever closer. The mercenaries wrinkled their noses in disgust, and backed away.

I looked at Fuliciana, almost checking her over for injuries, though it was hard from such a far distance. She was shaking heavily and looked on the verge of collapse, but she was holding herself up with all the dignity of a queen. The stress of the situation, coupled with her earlier wounds, had probably caused her to feel weak and dizzy, but she certainly wasn't planning on showing any of that emotion. That once again filled me with an immeasurable respect for her, and I believe that that's what really set her apart from all the tavern woman I had bedded over the fifteen years I had been at the wall. Fuliciana ignited not only the usual emotions of lust, but respect and admiration as well, which I had never felt for any of the woman before her.

"You have a choice," Arthur said with his usual calm demeanor not fooling me a bit. "You help or you die."

It actually took the mercenaries a few moments to decide which choice to pick. Either they were trying to be honorable, or they were simply idiots. I, myself, quickly decided that it was most likely the latter. Finally, a man, who I assumed was the second in command, threw down his sword with a clang.

"Put down your weapons!" he exclaimed vehemently. "Do it, now!"

The soldiers all threw down their weapons forcefully, clearly not happy about the present situation they were in. After all, they were Romans, and they weren't used to taking orders from anyone other than Marius. If they thought, however, that Marius had ever been a more powerful man than Arthur was, then they were greatly mistaken.

I caught Arthur looking at me, and I smirked uneasily, not quite sure what I had done to warrant such a curious and slightly amused expression. Before I could open my mouth to ask him, he turned away and looked back toward the others. He nodded towards Jols, who went about picking up the fallen swords of the (former) mercenaries. Guinevere gave me another glare before she stalked up to Fuliciana, who was still looking slightly off-color and dizzy. Fuliciana, if it was possible, turned even paler.

Tristan rode up, and I saw him shooting a glace at Fuliciana. She didn't see him, but still I felt a pang of jealousy shoot through my entire body. Seconds after it appeared, it was gone, and I swiftly looked away from Tristan, focusing all my attentions on Fuliciana. She was standing beside Guinevere watching Tristan with unconcealed interest on her face. Another pang of jealousy shot through me, and I looked at the ground, shifting my feet not unlike a child, growling slightly under my breath.

"How many'd you kill?" Bors asked Tristan loudly.

"Four," Tristan replied, calm as ever.

"Not a bad start to the day," Bors said with a shrug. Tristan just rode up to Arthur and dropped a crossbow at his feet, giving Arthur a knowing look.

"Armor piercing," he said. "They are close; we have no time."

Arthur looked around, his eyes lingering on mine, asking me for advice. I shrugged, telling him that he could do what he wanted to do, and that I was in no place to stop him. Arthur sighed and turned to Tristan.

"You ride ahead," he said, and Tristan nodded, already moving off in that direction. Arthur turned to Dagonet.

"You ride with the women," he said. I could see that this upset Dagonet, so I stepped forward.

"I will do it, Arthur," I said quickly. Arthur narrowed his eyes at me, and the faintest of smiles escaped his lips.

"Good," he said, almost playfully. "God knows you could use a rest."

I glowered at Arthur with mock indignation and moved off to find my horse, not missing the surprised but pleased look that Fuliciana was shooting me.

Suddenly, I was in a _very_ good mood.

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	8. More Than A Man

I'm on a roll! Whooooooooo. Sorry, had to do that. Watching RED SOX does that to you.

Okay, so, chapter 8. Sorry about the lack of individual thanks at the end of that last chapter. I was doing it at six forty in the morning, and I was going to be late for school if I didn't get downstairs...so, I had to skip that bit. There WILL be individual thanks at the end of this one.

Enjoy! And, as always, please review!

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**Chapter 8: **More Than A Man

I made my way over to the carriage and saw that Fuliciana was arguing with Guinevere and Marius's wife, who's name was Valoria (I had found out by this time.)

"I am fine!" she was saying. "I am not ill!"

Guinevere and Valoria slowly pushed her down onto the bed of blankets, and I looked away as she continued to argue. I don't know why, but I had never been able to watch a woman subdued in any way; it always inspired anger and the instinct to protect in me. Arthur often joked with me that my only weakness was, in fact, women, and that if the Woads were intelligent in any way, then they would use that to their advantage.

"You're tired," Guinevere said to Fuliciana. "Any you're cold. You shouldn't have been walking around that much, let alone fighting!"

"I was perfectly fine!" Fuliciana protested, not sounding like she was planning on backing down at all. "It was just the shock, I promise you."

Guinevere laughed and sat down on her own bed, shaking her head at Fuliciana's indignation.

"Fuliciana, you need your rest. There will be no cavorting about with any knights today," said Valoria in a patronizing voice that I found more than slightly annoying. "You need to sleep."

"Could I sit at the front of the carriage, at least?" Fuliciana asked. I looked carefully at her face, but she did not look at me once. Apparently, she didn't know that I was there.

"If you bring a blanket," Valoria said warningly. Fuliciana sighed, not thanking Valoria, which made me smile. She felt the same way I did, apparently. After all, why should she thank Valoria for granting her a freedom that should be hers by right? (I became extremely touchy when freedom was mentioned; as I didn't have any of my own.)

After Valoria left, and after Guinevere closed her eyes to sleep (which led me to believe that she didn't get much sleep the night before), Fuliciana gathered a blanket around her and started to move towards the front of the carriage. When she saw me watching her from beside the carriage, she faltered for a moment, hesitating in the shadows of the carriage, as if unsure if she could trust me. In the next moment, her face smoothed over, and she took a step forward, seating herself on the edge of the carriage, wrapping the blanket around her thin form. This close, I could see the scars that decorated her arms, and I longed to reach out my finger and trace her scars while whispering comforting words to her and holding her close.

"Have you taken over Dagonet's duty, then?" she asked, trying to hide the grin that was creeping over her features. I grinned openly, shrugging.

"Someone has to watch you," I said.

"I don't..."

"What about this morning?" I asked, my grin growing. I expected Fuliciana to become angry, but she just beamed at me instead. Then, there was a long silence, until she turned to me, tucking her knees under her chin and regarding me with her huge, beautiful blue eyes.

"So tell me about the knights, Lancelot," she said. I looked over at her, and saw that she was still staring at me.

"You don't want to talk about last night?" I asked with mock surprise, though I was, in truth, mildly surprised.

"Lancelot! Listen to the way you say that! That hardly sounds proper!" Fuliciana exclaimed with mock horror. I grinned at her, and she laughed openly. I tried to think of another way to say my words so they weren't as vulgar, but Fuliciana thought of the right words before I did. "No, Lancelot," she said, her eyebrows rising. "I don't want to talk of what we discussed last evening," she said. I grinned and nodded.

"And why not?" I asked, pouting. "Does it not hold your interest?"

"It holds my interest quite well," she replied. "But this is hardly the setting for a talk of things like that. I wanted to talk of something...lighter."

"Talking of the knights is hardly lighter," I reminded her.

"It is lighter than talking of you nearly killed," she reminded me. I grinned and nodded with reluctant admittance.

"All right, then," I said, shrugging. "Who do you want to know more of?"

"Anyone!" Fuliciana exclaimed with just a little too much excitement for a wounded woman. I grinned and shrugged once again. I looked around for anyone, and I spotted Bors riding beside Dagonet not far in front of us.

"Ah! That one there is Bors," I said.

"Bors," she murmured.

"He's got eleven bastards and a beautiful woman," I told her with a smile. "He tries to pretend he doesn't care all that much about either, but the rest of us know better."

Fuliciana grinned and nodded slowly, and I did not miss the small glance she shot me.

"It's a frequent joke around here that Bors's children don't have names, but numbers," I went on.

I looked over at Fuliciana again, and she looked up at me, her eyes wide with surprise.

"Well," she remarked. "That's interesting."

"The one riding next to him is Dagonet, you already know."

"Yes."

"Dagonet...Dagonet is a mystery. A bit like Tristan, only less... mysterious. He's just very...quiet. Quiet, but strong."

I thought for a short moment, really trying for the first time to figure out Dagonet like I had figured out all the other knights, through careful observation. "I just can't figure the man out," I said finally "The only one who can seem to get him to show any emotion whatsoever is Bors."

"I can see that," said Fuliciana pointedly as Dagonet threw his head back and laughed at something that Bors said.

"Let's see...Ah, those two are Galahad and Gawain."

"Which is which?"

"Galahad is the one with the curly hair, and Gawain is the other."

Fuliciana looked at the two knights for a while, and then she turned to me.

"Galahad is certainly good-looking," she remarked casually. "If only he would shave that beard, he might make more women swoon over him."

The pang of jealousy was like a stab this time, and I looked away from her hurriedly so she wouldn't see the emotion in my eyes.

"Galahad is the youngest," I continued quickly; perhaps too quickly "The only one younger than I. He and Gawain are inseparable."

I looked at the two with no small amount of sadness and envy. If only Arthur and I could be as close as we once were, I would have been very happy.

"What of Tristan?" Fuliciana asked, interrupting my reminiscing. "You said he was mysterious."

"Yes. Tristan is _very _mysterious. I suppose you'll see that in time. He is an excellent scout, better than any of your people that I've seen thus far."

"The best," Fuliciana said, grinning at me.

"The best," I agreed, remembering our earlier conversation in the carriage. Fuliciana's ability to joke about that moment showed that she was no longer angry about it more clearly than words ever could.

There was a short silence.

"What of Arthur?" Fuliciana asked after a moment.

"Arthur?" I said. "Arthur is...well, Arthur is Arthur."

"That doesn't help me much," Fuliciana said with a smile.

"Arthur is...kind," I said, but that wasn't the word I was looking for. "Arthur...Arthur is not a man you can describe in words. He is more than a man. A better man than all of us. You will see, in time."

"I hope so," Fuliciana said, so quiet that I hardly heard her over the other noises surrounding us. She stared ahead at Arthur thoughtfully. "What I've seen of him thus far has been good."

There was another silence, and I watched Fuliciana watching Arthur. She was interesting to watch, because she had lots of tiny habits that most people probably didn't notice. For example, she tucked her hair behind her ear whenever she was silent for a long moment, and then she picked at the fur studiously.

"Fuliciana?" I said to break the silence, surprised at the unsteadiness of my voice.

"Lancelot?" Fuliciana replied.

"Last night, when Tristan spoke to you, what did he say?"

Suddenly Galahad and Gawain rode up, out of breath and obviously quite excited about something.

"Come, Lancelot," said Gawain, nodding his head towards our commander. "Arthur wishes to speak with you."

"Who will take over the guard?"

"No one," Galahad said, looking at Fuliciana subtly. "Arthur wishes to speak with us all."

I looked back towards Fuliciana and she grinned at me. I grinned in return, admittedly saddened that I had to leave her. Galahad and Gawain exchanged glances that I pretended not to see. Then, I turned my back and rode to Arthur.

When I reached Arthur, it became clear that something was wrong. Tristan was saying something to him. I happened to look ahead, and I saw a great ice lake looming ahead of us.

"There is no other way," Tristan said. Arthur looked up at me, his face showing his worry. I moved towards him.

"There is no other way," he repeated. I nodded slowly.

"You're certain?" I asked Tristan.

"Yes," Tristan said simply. "We have to cross."

Arthur sighed and ran his hand through his hair, grumbling under his breath. It was clear that he wasn't happy about this turn of events, and he was now facing the consequences of insisting on bringing the peasants along with us.

I rode back to tell Fuliciana that we were nearing a frozen lake, and then I moved back with Arthur. We started to cross the ice slowly and cautiously, and it was already all too clear that the Saxons were going to catch up to us at the pace we were moving at. However, if we moved any faster, then we would end up falling through the ice.

After a few moments of careful walking, Arthur turned to us, his face wrought with worry. He looked directly at me, his eyes questioning. I shrugged and looked away, not wanting to see the desperate indecision that would no doubt be appearing on Arthur's face. He sighed, and looked at each of the knights in turn.

"Knights," he began, and I let out a great sigh. All of us knew what was coming; we were going to stay and fight the Saxons.

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**Individual thanks: **

**Swashswashbucklebuckle: **I didn't really give anyone a chance to review chapter five before I posted six. Oops. I'm glad this is your favorite story! That makes me so happy!

Jemiul: Yeah, Fuliciana and Lancelot are both starting to like each other a bit more. Yeah, Arthur was a little ticked off about the whole Merlin thing. Poor guy. You should be happy, because I haven't gone and died from lack of sleep just yet! 

**White Truffle: **I'm glad you don't think my fics are crappy! That makes me feel all fluffy inside. What are you going to update your story? I've been waiting for quite a while! This might be the last night that I have no sleep! The Red Sox could win! They're winning right now in the bottom of the seventh inning. YES! (Sorry, I'm excited.)

**Camreyn: **Oh dear, out at a pub? Sounds like fun indeed! I'm glad you liked both chapters. Yes, Tristan was drunk, and it was simply for that reason that he got rid of the cloak. He was drunk and feeling a little tipsy, so he let it loose. (I imagine that Tristan doesn't get drunk very often, but when he does, it has to be funny. I imagine it as a sort of Jack Sparrow type thing.) You were right about pretty much everything. Lancelot just seems like he'd be grumpy in the morning, so I figured I'd write that in there. Galahad and Tristan are all amused by it because they're used to it, and they find it funny. (I thought the Bors scene was hilarious as well!)

**Chiefhow: **I'm glad you eventually decided to read my story! I'm always glad to have readers, and reviewers! Hope you like this chapter!

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There you have it! On to watch the rest of the game!


	9. You Cannot Do Anything

RED SOX WON THE WORLD SERIES! YES! I am in SUCH a good mood! Holy CRAP! I'm so excited! First time since 1918! Yes!

Okay, now that that's out...here's chapter 9! I know I'm not leaving much time for people to review, but I want to get this done as quickly as possible so I can start writing the sequel! Whoo!

Hope you enjoy! Individual thanks are at the end! Please review!

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**Chapter 9:** You Cannot Do Anything

There was a short silence; so short that I wouldn't have noticed it if I hadn't been listening for it.

"Well," Bors said to break that silence. "I'm tired of running. And these Saxons are so close behind, my ass is hurting."

"Never liked looking over my shoulder anyway," Tristan remarked with a shrug, looking over his shoulder at something behind him. I looked, and saw Fuliciana standing next to the carriage, her cloak wrapped around her tightly. At Tristan's glance, she shivered and pulled her cloak even tighter. I sighed heavily and turned back to face Arthur.

"It'll be a pleasure to put an end to this racket," Gawain remarked, grinning at Galahad.

"We'll finally be able to look at the bastards," Galahad added. I looked up at Arthur and saw that he was looking at me, his expression fearful.

"Here," Dagonet remarked, already getting out his weapons. "Now."

Arthur was waiting for me to speak, but I did not. After all, what was there to say? I just shrugged and shook my head. That was enough for Arthur. He knew that I didn't see any other way out of it, but wasn't necessarily happy with it either.

I turned and looked at Fuliciana, and saw that she was watching me with her face devoid of any emotion, just looking at me and calculating. Guinevere was behind her, stepping off the carriage, muttering something to herself. I shook my head sadly, trying to send her the message that we were fighting. However, though I now called her a friend in my mind, we did not yet have the ability to communicate with our bodies as Arthur and I had learned to do so long ago.

I turned and walked off to gather my weapons. The other knights were milling about, their mood neither sullen nor excited. I, myself, was feeling slightly sullen. I wasn't in the mood for fighting. I was in the mood for riding home to my damn home so I could keep my promise to my mother and my father and my various siblings. Anything that involved fighting was another added risk that tried to prevent me from returning home and fulfilling that promise.

I was ready to stand with Galahad and Gawain, who were waiting for Jols to help them with their bows, when I saw Fuliciana bending over a pile of shields, rummaging through them, biting the inside of her cheek in concentration.

"You aren't fighting, are you?" I asked incredulously, hurrying up to her.

"I am," she replied smiling up at me and picking up a shield with a satisfactory nod at it.

"And why should she not?" asked Tristan, appearing beside me suddenly. "She is a woman of Briton, Lancelot. Remember that."

He walked off, being his normal, mysterious self, and I smiled at Fuliciana with a confidence that I didn't even begin to feel. A great fear was starting to grow in the pit of my stomach. What would happen if Fuliciana were hurt? Or, for that matter, her 'lovely' sister? What would happen if one of them were killed? Fighting was so much simpler when there were no women around to worry about.

"I don't want you to be harmed," I remarked quietly to her as we stood in a line upon the ice. I realized that I was standing rather close to her, but I didn't bother to move.

"I won't," she said with a confidence that surprised me. "You'll see."

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It wasn't long before the Saxons began to move out across the ice, cheering their Saxon cheer and stomping their feet in rhythm. If I had any questions about the intelligence level of these beasts, then there were all answered at that moment.

I saw them looking at Fuliciana and Guinevere with smiles on their faces, and I knew that we had to win the battle at whatever cost, not just for us, but for the women as well. If there was anything worse than hitting a woman as far as I was concerned, it was raping a woman. Nothing could compare, and I would have gladly killed anyone who considered it. On an impulse, my hand rested on Fuliciana's shoulder. She smiled up at me shakily.

"You look frightened," I remarked to Guinevere to hide my fear for her and her sister. "There is a large number of lonely men out there."

Guinevere shot me an amused look, and she turned to look at the Saxons, her lips twitching up in a smile.

"Don't worry," she remarked casually. "I won't let them rape you."

I smiled and looked over at Fuliciana and saw that she was looking ahead, shaking slightly. I wasn't sure if it was the cold or if it was fear, but she was definitely shaking. My attempt at lightening the mood had fallen flat. I felt my shoulders slump, and I felt the immense need to pull her to me and whisper comforts into her ear so she would smile again.

Suddenly, her hand reached out and rested on my arm, her fingers curling around it with that delicate strength that I so admired in her. She smiled up at me, and I smiled in return, feeling slightly relived and rejuvenated at the sight of her smile. Her smile brought hope to my world.

One of the Saxon archers fired to test the range, but his arrow fell pitifully short. The Saxons remained standing there, and a wave of hilarity passed over me. They looked so ridiculous standing there, as if they had no idea what to do next. I actually had to fight down laugher. Arthur turned to us.

"I think they're waiting for an invitation," he remarked dryly. "Bors. Tristan."

"We're far out of range!" Guinevere exclaimed incredulously. Arthur just shot her a look, and she fell silent. Fuliciana watched Tristan with a calm confidence that nearly mirrored Arthur's.

Tristan and Bors fired, and they hit their targets. Arthur shot Guinevere an uncharacteristically smug look that made me want to burst into laughter. Guinevere just pursed her lips with obvious annoyance and looked away.

The Saxons advanced, and we held our bows ready, waiting for Arthur's signal. When he gave it, we fired into the horde of Saxons, then again, and then a third time. We did not stop firing.

"Aim for the wings of the ranks," Arthur commanded quietly. "Make them cluster."

We fired again, this time following Arthur's orders and hitting the wings of the ranks. Like sheep, they herded into the center and clustered. I could almost hear the ice cracking beneath them. It was only a matter of time.

Suddenly, just as I was beginning to wonder if it was going to crack at all, Arthur answered my inward question, sending fear shooting through my heart.

"It's not going to crack!" he yelled. "Fall back! Fall back! Prepare for combat!"

I looked ahead at the Saxons, who were marching forward with determination. It seemed as if every eye was directed on Fuliciana, and as if every one of the Saxons was moving towards _her_. There was no one but the two of us on the ice, suddenly, and I reached out my hand to rest it on her arm. I looked down on her in fear, and she grinned in return, trying to look as if she wasn't frightened, or even fazed by the Saxons' lusty stares and the hopelessness that was rapidly pervading throughout our company

In the next moment, time seemed to stand still. Everyone froze but the Saxons, who moved steadily forward, closer and closer to Arthur and the mysterious Woad woman who had such a hold on my heart. I clutched my swords in my hands tightly, and I inched closer to Fuliciana, vowing to myself that neither she nor Arthur would fall before me in the battle that was to come. My eyes, on their way to find Arthur's, graced Dagonet's features, and I saw his entire body quivering with an indecision that I recognized because I myself was feeling it.

Suddenly, he sprang forward, yelling a wordless cry as he waved his axe around in the air. My hand tightened like a vice on Fuliciana's arm, and I move behind her, so my arm was across her chest, holding her securely as Dagonet ran across the ice towards the oncoming Saxons.

"Dag!" yelled Bors, his voice tearing through the air like a knife ripping through flesh, a torrent of crimson emotions let loose into the air. Dagonet did not stop or even falter, but ran steadily onwards, still yelling even as an arrow thudded into his side.

Fuliciana ripped away from me violently and charged after Dagonet, her sword clattering to the ground at my feet; she had only a shield with her. I started to run forward, but Arthur's commanding voice stopped me.

"Don't, Lancelot!" he exclaimed.

"Fuliciana!" Guinevere screamed, but she did not run after her. Instead, she picked up her bow again and fired into the crowd of Saxons, hitting one of the archers straight in the chest. I followed her example.

Dagonet stopped running and brought his axe down into the ice, his grunt of effort carrying all the way over to where we stood, firing arrow after arrow into the mass of Saxons that was stomping across the ice.

The Saxon leader, a bald man with a disgusting beard that hung down his neck, shoved the archers out in front, and he yelled at them to begin shooting. They fired on Dagonet, and two of them caught him, but Dagonet kept crashing his axe through the ice, though his face was contorted with pain.

Bors ran forward, crying out his best friend's name as he went, carrying a shield much like Fuliciana's. Arthur, after a moment's hesitation, followed him. My heart burned with the need to go with them, but my duty to Arthur overrode that need, and I fired arrow after arrow, aiming for the Saxons that I noticed looking at Fuliciana.

The ice cracked at last, just as Fuliciana slid to a stop in front of Dagonet. He began to collapse, and she threw down her shield, catching him and trying to drag him away from the ice that was beginning to fall from beneath their feet.

Another arrow. Another. Another. I was shooting arrows faster than I could count. I would not let any of them harm Fuliciana or Arthur. They had already harmed Dagonet. I would not let them hurt anyone else.

"Fuliciana!" screamed Guinevere suddenly, her voice bouncing off the ice and echoing into the distance. I was pulled out of my war-induced stupor, and I looked towards Fuliciana, just as an arrow penetrated her right shoulder with an ominous thud.

There was an impossibly long silence as she hovered there, clutching Dagonet, pain written on every feature. She took in a deep breath, her entire body wavering with dizziness. Then, she fell, and she and Dagonet crashed through the ice together, into the water that was waiting for them.

"Fuliciana!" I screamed, running forward, a great pain seizing my heart. Gawain ran in front of me and pushed me firmly back. I just shoved him out of the way with one arm and tried to run forward. Gawain grabbed my shoulders and pulled me back as I fought, desperate to get to Fuliciana.

"Galahad!" Gawain yelled, dragging me backwards. Guinevere stopped firing at the Saxons, and she watched me, her lips parted slightly, her head tilted. It was impossible to miss the tears in her eyes.

"Let me go, damn you!" I yelled, trying to fight of Gawain with the arm that he wasn't holding. All around us were the screams of dying Saxons as the ice cracked, and they were plunged into the icy waters; the same icy waters that Fuliciana and Dagonet had plunged into moments before. Though her scream was silent, I heard it more clearly than all the rest.

"Lancelot, you can not do anything!" Galahad exclaimed, holding on to me desperately. "Please!"

Perhaps it was the way he implored me with his young innocence showing in his large brown eyes (Though, in truth, he was only several years younger than me), but his words sent a swift realization straight to my heart, stilling my fruitless struggle. There was nothing I could do. _Nothing. _

I watched, motionless, as Arthur pulled Fuliciana out of the water. When I saw that Fuliciana was holding fast to Dagonet's limp wrist, my eyes filled with tears that would never fall. Gawain's arms were still wrapped around me from behind, and Galahad still stood in front of me, his hands grabbing my arms. Everything was frozen except the sounds of Bors's lamenting and the dying Saxons off in the distance. Guinevere, as one last show of retaliation, fired at the Saxon leader, but missed, and killed the man next to him instead. He growled in her direction, and started to back away with the scant remainder of his men who had not found their death beneath the ice.

Arthur lifted Fuliciana in his arms, and my heart clenched tight when her limp arm dangled close to the ground, her knuckles scraping across the ice as Arthur stood. Bors started to drag Dagonet away, not bothering to hide his sobs of grief from those who watched.

"Oh, Gods," Galahad gasped, his hands leaving my arms and flying to his mouth. I reached out and clasped my hand on his shoulder, and he placed his hand on mine, his eyes fixed on Dagonet's corpse. "Oh, Gods, Dagonet!"

I stared at Dagonet, and then at Fuliciana, not even daring to think that she may be dead. I felt, somehow, as if I did not deserve to grieve for her if she were dead, though inside, I too was dying.

"She lives," Arthur said to Guinevere, though his eyes found mine when he spoke. I looked away and angrily scrubbed my tears from my eyes. Arthur moved to me and held out Fuliciana's limp form, his eyes boring into mine. "Take her, Lancelot. I must..."

He broke off and looked back at Bors, who was still struggling with Dagonet. He had collapsed on top of his friend's body, and was shaking with grief, his fists clutching Dagonet's tunic. I suddenly felt the need to vomit, but instead I looked to Guinevere for approval. She nodded, and I held out my arms for the woman. Arthur deposited her, and I staggered a bit under her weight before I found my balance and was able to hold her upright. Gawain and Galahad exchanged a glance, and both patted me on the shoulder, their mouths turned down in identical frowns of sorrow as they looked at Dagonet.

Tristan stepped forward, and for the first time, I saw an emotion on the man's face. He looked at Fuliciana with his mouth open in absolute horror and grief. I was so taken aback that I hardly felt the familiar pang of jealousy when Tristan's shaking hand gently reached out and caressed Fuliciana's cheek. As I watched, he retrieved his hand, and his eyes flew to mine.

"She's so cold," he said, and though he said it in his usual calm tone, I did not miss the childish fear in his voice.

"I know," I replied, and I tightened my hold on her, looking down on her beautiful face, which was so peaceful in her condition, so close to death. The blood from her arrow-wound flowed through my fingers, and left patterns on the ice, so beautiful.

Tristan and I both started walking at the same instant, both having the same thought and somehow being able to understand each other. It was a phenomenon that I had never before shared with anyone other than Arthur, and I was surprised, to say the least, when it happened. However, I knew that it was our combined concern for Fuliciana's well being that led us to form such a bond.

I could sense that Guinevere had joined us, and moments later; Galahad appeared at my side, his hand resting on my shoulder, providing me with an infinite amount of comfort. Gawain, of course, was not far behind. Together, trying to block out the sound of Bors wailing in the background, we started the long trek across the ice.

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**Individual Thanks: **

**Chiefhow: **I'm glad you liked the chapter! I agree, Bors is awesome. He has a bit of a part in this chapter, though it's quite sad. I really like your story, by the way. I never got to read Rebekah of the Woods, but I'm starting to now. I really like Family Ties, though. I haven't had the chance to review, because it seems that I always read it at like six in the morning when I'm leaving for school, but I promise I'll review soon. (Papay seems very sexy, and pumpkin bars sound delicious!)

**Camreyn: **Baseball is officially over for the season, so no more Red Sox (sad). I'm glad you liked the chapter, and yes, Lancelot is VERY jealous. He's very possessive of Fuliciana, isn't he? In this chapter, too, he gets kind of jealous, and we got to see a side of Tristan that we never really saw in the movie.

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A/N: This is just a little explanation. I know it seems kind of weird that they were all walking away at the end while Dagonet had just died and Bors was clearly grieving. In my mind, they were walking away for two reasons. 1: Fuliciana was hurt, and they needed to get her to the carriage so they could heal her, and 2: They wanted to leave Bors alone with his grief and Arthur. I always saw Arthur as the kind of guy who the knights went to when they were sad about something, so he's staying behind to comfort Bors.

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Just a little explanation there! Hope you liked the chapter! Remember to press the review button please! I'll be very happy!

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	10. It Is Never Your Fault

I know it's been kind of long since I've updated. Sorry about that. I haven't had much chance to write.

So, anyway, here's chapter 10. We're getting closer to the sequel! Oooo! So excited!

Enjoy, and PLEASE remember to review!

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**Chapter 10: **It is Never Your Fault

My arms encircled Fuliciana's waist, holding her close to me as we rode onward, pressing hard. Behind me, Dagonet's corpse rode alone, while Bors rode beside it. I was eerily reminded of the many times that they had ridden beside one another, laughing and joking. There would be no more laughing and joking for them, and it made me immeasurably sad. The knowledge that my life and the lives of all those around me had changed for the worst forever sent a great pain throughout my body, and I suddenly had to fight back tears.

My arms tightened around Fuliciana, and I rode just a small amount faster, though I still stayed a considerable amount behind Arthur and Guinevere. Fuliciana was fading in my arms. Her skin, unlike Dagonet's, was a pristine, beautiful white, flawless as always. Her lips were only slightly parted, and if I bent my face close enough, I could feel her ragged breath on my face. It gave me comfort, but also reminded me how close to death she was.

After what seemed like hours of riding, we came upon the caravan. When they saw us, they let out a great cheer of triumph, not seeing Dagonet or Fuliciana, but seeing only their freedom and their lives. They did not care who we had lost, only that they were yet alive and the Saxons were defeated.

Arthur rode swiftly to the carriage where Fuliciana and Guinevere had spent the days since we rescued them. There were a few peasant women inside, and Arthur shooed them out impatiently.

"Halt the caravan!" he yelled, his booming voice carrying to the front. The leader of the caravan, the young man, Ganis, who had earned my respect earlier by defying Marius's mercenaries, ordered the front carriage to halt. "Valoria!"

Valoria's head appeared out of her carriage. When she saw me cradling Fuliciana's lifeless form against me, she gasped and hurried out. Her son, Alecto, followed her with no emotion on his face.

"What happened to her?" she asked. No one answered. She could see as she reached us that the arrow still protruded from Fuliciana's shoulder. "Which among you is a healer?"

Tristan raised one finger. Valoria looked him over, and nodded reluctantly.

"Do you have the tools?" she asked. Tristan nodded wordlessly and patted his saddlebags. Valoria nodded. "Knight, take her into the carriage."

I nodded and dismounted, pulling Fuliciana after me and holding her close to my chest. I followed Guinevere into the carriage, and I lay her on the bed on her stomach. Her limp hand dangled to the floor. I cringed and moved it up onto the bed. Guinevere nodded appreciatively and reached out a hand to put it on my arm. I looked down at her, and she looked back, and I was struck at how much she looked like Fuliciana when I really looked closely.

"Move, Lancelot," Tristan said as he entered the carriage. I started to leave, but Guinevere put out a hand and stopped me.

"Stay," she mouthed. I nodded readily, partly because she told me to, and partly because I wasn't eager to leave as it was.

Tristan knelt by Fuliciana's bed, and his hand reached out, gently brushing her hair away from the wound. Then, he took out a knife and gently cut away the fabric around the wound. It stuck there, and Tristan had to rip it away with a small amount of force.

Fuliciana shuddered, and for a moment, I thought she was going to awake, but she never did. She only groaned in sleep and turned over, sweat beading on her forehead and neck. I looked away, slightly disgusted by the sight of the wound. As I have said before, I had a great love for women in general, and seeing a woman wounded this grievously was not something I was glad to experience. Not to mention that this woman happened to be the woman who I was swiftly falling in love with despite my upbringing to hate her people.

Tristan began to work methodically, then, but I could tell that he was in great pain as well. I felt like a burden to Fuliciana, and to everyone around me. I was useless, standing there, watching. Tristan would be able to tell her that he was the one who had healed her, while I stood there dumbly and watched. He would tell her that, too, in order to have her for his own.

I turned to look at Guinevere, and saw her looking back at me, her eyes closed halfway as she regarded me curiously. When she looked at me, she obviously saw some of my emotions through the mask I hurriedly tried to construct, because she tightened her hold on my arm and stepped closer to me, her fingers trailing up and back down my tunic soothingly, as if I were a dog or a small child.

Fuliciana stirred, and Guinevere and I both tensed, glancing at one another nervously. Tristan just looked back at us and shook his head.

"I'm almost through," he said quietly, turning back to his work. "She's not going to awake."

"When, then, will she?" Guinevere asked anxiously.

"Truthfully, I don't know," Tristan said with a seemingly nonchalant shrug. "Her wound is grievous. She is in a lot of pain."

I winced, and both sets of eyes turned to me. Guinevere patted my arm comfortingly, and Tristan turned away, shaking his head.

"You have dealt with others in pain before, Lancelot," Tristan sad with a wry, forced smile. "You have dealt with pain yourself. This is no different."

The coldness in Tristan's voice angered me. All the evidence that I had seen so far indicated that Tristan indeed loved Fuliciana, or at least cared for her strongly. Why, then, would he not allow himself to show any emotion when she was so close to death and in so much pain? I myself was quivering like a child and my eyes were filled with tears. Anyone who couldn't see me crying would have been blind.

"It isn't different to you, perhaps," I said with just as much coldness. "But it is to me."

Tristan turned and looked at me, and he opened his mouth as if to say something, but he just shook his head and turned around.

"I see you've gone and gotten yourself attached to the woman," he muttered under his breath, so quietly that I wasn't sure if I was supposed to hear him or not. "You of all people should know that attachments are dangerous."

This last part was said louder, so I knew that I was meant to respond to Tristan's bitter statement.

"I would rather risk heartbreak by becoming attached to someone than spend my entire life alone," I retorted through clenched teeth.

"As you've shown," Tristan remarked coolly. He looked down at Fuliciana and shook his head, smoothing her hair back from her face. "I have done all I can. It is in the hands of the gods, now."

Tristan turned and looked at Guinevere, bowing low. Guinevere dipped her own head in response.

"Will she live?" Guinevere asked nervously.

"Almost certainly," Tristan said, trying to look as if he didn't care whether she did or not. "I'm afraid for her arm, though. It may never heal."

Guinevere shuddered almost involuntarily, wrapping her arms around herself. She nodded, and looked down on her sister forlornly. I did not miss the tears that formed in her eyes.

Tristan stood there silently for a few more moments, before finally bowing once again and exiting the carriage briskly, calling quietly for his horse. I gave Fuliciana one last look, and I started to follow him.

"Wait!" Guinevere cried with a certain desperation that frightened me and caused me to freeze in mid-step, my body turning to face her automatically.

"Yes, m'lady?" I asked warily. Guinevere swayed before me, one hand reaching out and resting on one of the wooden columns that descended from the roof of the carriage.

"Please stay, Lancelot. You are the only one around here who truly cares for her, I think."

I thought of Tristan, but decided not to say anything. After all, if I told her that I thought Tristan was in love with Fuliciana, then she might decide that she would rather have Tristan in the carriage with her. That was the last thing I wanted.

"I am certain there are others," I said, shrugging. "Fuliciana is a friendly girl."

"She is," Guinevere said sadly, looking down at her sister with an immeasurable fondness in her gaze. "But, Lancelot, I really do think that you are the only one who has spoken enough with her to realize that."

I shrugged again, looking at Fuliciana sadly. She looked so broken, lying there. I wanted to take her into my arms and kiss her hair and try to wake her. She looked dead, and I wanted to wake her to reassure myself that she was still alive.

"I will stay," I said. "I will help you care for her."

"Thank you," Guinevere said with an infinite amount of gratitude in her voice. "Lancelot, thank you."

* * *

I did not leave the carriage all that day. I remained seated by Fuliciana's bedside, watching her breathe. Though, to most people, this might seem like a boring (not to mention slightly obsessive) activity, to me, it meant the world to see every movement of her chest. Every breath she took was another moment she remained alive.

I spent the other part of the day, when I was not watching her breathe, wiping her brow with a cool cloth, and murmuring gently to her in case she regained consciousness and I wasn't aware of it. Guinevere was hardly there; she was off with Arthur, trying to comfort him. Before she arrived, it would have been my duty to help him cope with the loss of Dagonet. Since she was there, however, I became unneeded to all but Fuliciana.

And so Fuliciana was whom I spent all my attention on. I noticed every little movement she made, and if I sensed discomfort, I would immediately try to make it go away. Once, when I moved the pillow slightly after she grimaced while turning, I was rewarded with a contented sigh and a small smile that remained on her lips for a long while afterward. That, in my mind, was the sure sign that she was going to survive.

* * *

I was smoothing her hair back from her face, making certain to move every single strand so she wouldn't be bothered by it, when Tristan entered, ready to change her bandage once again. By this time, the caravan was halted for the night, and the sun was just beginning to set, so it was hard for me to see Tristan.

"Who's there?" I asked, my first thought being that it was Dagonet. When I remembered that Dagonet was dead, my eyes immediately stung with tears.

"Tristan," said Tristan, brushing past me and bending over Fuliciana, turning her over onto her stomach gently. "I'll take over watch."

"No," I said quickly. "No, I'll do it."

Tristan turned his head and looked at me, quite obviously somewhat annoyed. I just looked down at Fuliciana and back at Tristan, shrugging.

"Her sister asked me to say," I said, putting only a slight emphasis on 'me'.

"I know," Tristan said. "She told me."

"She did?" I asked, knowing that I sounded slightly childish and not caring a bit. I hoped to any gods that were listening that Guinevere didn't tell Tristan to relieve me of my watch of Fuliciana. "What did she say?"

"She said that you cared deeply for Fuliciana," Tristan said with no emotion whatsoever. "And that if she were to die, that it would hurt you greatly."

"It would," I said simply.

"Yes," Tristan said, grinning slightly. "I do believe that it would."

I heard a sound from outside, and I turned as Guinevere walked in, looking tired and ready to collapse. When she saw Tristan, she froze, her mouth opening in question.

"I'm changing the bandage," Tristan said before she could ask. "She is fine."

"Good," Guinevere said with a happy sigh, patting my arm as she squeezed past me to go into her own bed. "Is she any better?"

"It hasn't even been a day, m'lady," Tristan said dryly. "There isn't much improvement."

"Oh," Guinevere said sadly. "Of course."

I stood over Tristan and watched as he peeled back the bandage, which was red with blood. As he ripped it off, the wound began to bleed again. Tristan's eyebrows drew together as he looked at the wound, and he shook his head.

"Something wrong?" I asked nervously.

"No," Tristan said. "It's almost too clean."

"So...that's good?"

Tristan looked at me incredulously, as if checking to see if I was serious or not. I shrugged.

"Yes, it's good," he said, shaking his head with apparent disgust at my stupidity. "But I don't know if she has a fever due to it or not. We need her to wake."

"Oh," I said, my hands twitching as I restrained them from reaching out and touching her inviting waves of hair.

Tristan began to wrap the bandage firmly around Fuliciana's shoulder, his rough, dark hands moving deftly across Fuliciana's smooth white skin. I felt a white-hot jealousy course through me, though I tried to deny it in my head. Tristan was enjoying touching Fuliciana; that much was plain. If I hadn't known Tristan at all, I'd have said that he wasn't even bothering to hide it. As it was, an uneasy suspicion filled me, and I moved closer to Fuliciana instinctively, as if I thought that Tristan was going to harm her.

"Lancelot," Guinevere said suddenly, looking at me with the corners of her mouth drawn down in a heavy, weary frown. "If you wish it, I will not hold you here any longer."

"No, m'lady," I said, not too hastily. "I could not leave."

Guinevere nodded as if she expected me to say that. She turned to watch Tristan for a few moments, and then turned back to look at me.

"Arthur grieves for you, Lancelot," she said. "For all of you, but for you especially."

I looked at Guinevere questioningly, and saw Tristan turn and look at her as well out of the corner of my eye.

"Why does he grieve for me?" I asked. "M'lady?"

"Call me Guinevere," Guinevere said, waving her hand. "He grieves for you because you are his closest friend, and he has abandoned you these past days."

I looked down at my hands, which were clasped in my lap. How many times had I seen Arthur with his fingers laced in that same position? How many times had I spied on Arthur while he was praying to his cursed God, confiding in his deity though he would not talk to me? And now, when we had such a short time together left, he realizes that I was there all along?

"Where is he?" I asked, sighing and standing up.

"I am here, Lancelot," said Arthur from the doorway. Tristan, conveniently finishing his work at that very instant, bowed his way out. Guinevere left as well. First, though, she had to share a smoldering glance with Arthur that left Arthur looking confused and slightly flushed.

"Arthur, why do you grieve for me?" I asked, a huff of a laugh escaping me. "There are so many others to grieve for. Do not waste your tears on me."

Arthur looked at me, and he motioned to Guinevere's bed. We seated ourselves on the end of it, and Arthur turned to me, his hand reaching out and taking my own.

"I have abandoned you, Lancelot. I have left you to the side these past weeks. I have let our friendship fade."

"You have not done anything," I said incredulously, shaking my head. "Arthur...you are my truest friend. If there are other, more important things that hold your attention, then I understand completely."

"No, that's not it!" Arthur exclaimed, standing up and beginning to pace anxiously. "That's not it. No one is more important than you, Lancelot. No one. No one can replace you, ever. You are my greatest and truest friend and nothing, _nothing, _will ever change that."

I blinked, slightly taken aback by this forward statement. Arthur looked down at me, and he placed a hand on his forehead, closing his eyes.

"She cannot replace you, Lancelot," he murmured. His eyes reopened, and he stared at me.

"I..." I began, but I did not know what to say. "Arthur, you know I feel the same, but why this sudden need to tell me this?"

"Lancelot, do you realize that I could lose you at any moment? At any one moment, you could be gone to me forever. I could be gone to you. What would happen if I were to die, and I hadn't told you how much you meant to me?"

"Arthur, I promised you long ago that you would not die before I, and it remains a promise to this day. Remember that."

Arthur looked at me, and a vacant half-smile touched his lips.

"Thank you, Lancelot," he said. "Thank you."

Arthur ruffled my hair as he often did when the two of us were alone. Then, he turned and started to walk out of the carriage.

"Arthur!" I exclaimed, standing and crossing the room to him. Arthur turned and looked at me curiously.

"I know that Guinevere attempted to comfort you," I said nervously, not really sure what I was doing. "But no one but I can comfort you, I know, when we have lost a knight."

Arthur's gaze dropped to the floor, and I reached out and placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder. He looked back up at me, and I saw how saddened he was.

"Arthur," I said, as if I was speaking to a particularly stubborn child. "It was not your fault. It is never your fault."

"If I hadn't insisted on bringing the peasants..."

"If you hadn't insisted on bringing the peasants, then they would all be dead, Arthur. You did the right thing. It was Dagonet's choice."

Arthur sighed and looked down at Fuliciana's sleeping form. His gaze remained on her for a long time, and then he looked up at me.

"She will blame herself," he said. "Make certain that she knows that it wasn't her fault."

"Just as it wasn't your fault," I reminded him. He grinned, but his eyes were vacant, and he did not say anything.

I embraced him, which must have surprised him.

"It was not your fault," I whispered to him. "It wasn't. Remember that."

"I will, Lancelot," Arthur said, his hand ruffling my curls once again. "Thank you."

"Arthur?"

"Yes?"

For the second time that night, Arthur paused half out of the carriage.

"You are my truest friend as well."

Arthur grinned, and then he was gone into the night.

* * *

**Individual Thanks:**

**Camreyn: **I am _very _excited! Red Sox! Whoo! I'm glad you understand my ending. I cried too in the movie when Dagonet died. Then I _bawled _when Lancelot died. It took a while, though, since I was kind of in shock!

**Jemiul: **I know, poor Dagonet. At least he got some attention in this story. Fuliciana liked him. She's a smart girl. I'm glad I didn't die of lack of sleep, too. It makes me happy.

**Chiefhow: **Yeah, Tristan's a pretty emotionless guy, but I'm pretty sure there's something going on in that pretty little head of his!

**Gifted Empress: **Shame on you! (Haha, kidding, kidding) Yay! A Red Sox Fan! Ah, I love the Red Sox. Don't even get me started on how many hot/adorable players there are on the team! I'm glad you like my stories, though, and I hope you review more in the future!

* * *

Hope you liked my chapter 10! Please review so I can have lots and lots of reviews! It would make me happy!

**P.S.: **Syerri, where are you? Where is your updated story? Have you gone missing, or are you lying low? _Please_ come back, I miss your you-ness, and I'm itching for the next chapter of your story!


	11. She's Awake

Here's chapter 11! My updates aren't coming as fast as I'd like them too, but I've been having a lot of projects due lately. I'm working hard at this, though, and as soon as I get a new laptop cord (one that actually works!) I'll be able to write three times as much!

Hope you enjoy this chapter, and please review! Individual thanks at the end, as always.

* * *

**Chapter 11: **She's awake

Long after Arthur left, I sat by Fuliciana's side, just watching her and thinking. First, I thought of Tristan, and of his apparent love for Fuliciana...or was it lust? I wasn't sure of what I was feeling myself. After all, Tristan and I had both known her for a matter of days. That was not long at all; how could we honestly say that we loved her?

Then, there was Arthur. Our service to Rome had almost ended. After living so long with the man by my side, how could I just leave him and expect to go on living? It pained me to know that though I would soon be going home and seeing my family, I would be leaving Arthur behind forever.

Without realizing it, I began to gently stroke Fuliciana's curls, comforting her and comforting myself at the same time. My lips began to move, and I found myself chanting rather than singing a song I remembered from when I was younger.

"If you'd only sing it, Lancelot, I'm sure you'd have a very pretty voice."

I turned and saw Guinevere standing in the doorway, her arms folded across her chest and a wide smile on her face. I retracted my hand swiftly, but Guinevere waved her hand indifferently.

"Go ahead. I'm sure she's enjoying it."

I flushed crimson and looked at the ground. Guinevere walked to her bed and sat down. I could feel her eyes on me, but I did not turn around.

"I will keep watch outside," I murmured quietly. Guinevere started to protest, but I was already heading towards the door, looking back at Fuliciana regretfully. Guinevere sighed and collapsed into her bed tiredly.

I stood outside for a short while, looking around for a place where I could sit and keep watch over Fuliciana. There were no good trees around, so I contented myself with sitting with my back again the side of the carriage, hidden in the shadows.

Hidden, it would seem, poorly, for Galahad found me a moment later, and sat beside me without asking my thoughts on the matter.

"Why don't you join Gawain and I?" he asked with all the young, innocent friendliness that came from being the youngest in a group of many men.

"I would rather not," I said, turning a grin on the younger man. "All your affectionate petting serves to make me sick whenever I am near you."

Galahad's face darkened with anger, but he smiled at me. He knew that I wished that my friendship with Arthur was as special and loving as his was with Gawain. He had always known.

"Would you rather sit here in the snow, then?" he asked. "You'll be cold."

"What nights am I not cold? I asked, shrugging.

"The nights you sit with us," said the boy with a laugh, and he arched an eyebrow as he stood, a hand on my shoulder comfortingly. "But don't brood too much. I'd hate to see that frown on your face permanently."

"And why is that?" I asked, taking on my act of cockiness and complete security. "Do you like watching me smile, Galahad?"

"No, but the women do. If you did not smile, then they would leave you, and I would have more women than I knew what to do with."

I grinned and thought of Fuliciana. If all the other women back at the wall left me because I did not smile, then I would gladly frown for the rest of my life, if only I could have Fuliciana.

"I see your reasoning," I remarked instead of speaking my thoughts aloud to Galahad. "For then you would have no time for Gawain."

Galahad's eyebrows drew together in mock anger

"You're a disturbing man, you know that? You like the thought of Gawain and I sharing a bed."

"No, I'm not disturbing," I remarked, grinning up at Galahad, trying to obtain some of his childish innocence. "I'm just observant."

The two of us laughed together, and Galahad shook his head slightly in my general direction.

"So you're certain you don't want to join us?" he asked, his tone becoming concerned."

"I'm certain," I replied, waving him away with one hand. "Go. Return to your lover."

"Witty," Galahad remarked sarcastically, turning and walking off, shaking his head again. "Always witty."

I grinned after him and settled down to sleep. Inside the carriage, I heard someone rustling in their sleep, and soft murmurs of unconsciousness. I sighed, content, and closed my eyes, sliding into sleep once more.

* * *

I awoke sometime later to the sound of someone calling my name. They were calling me quietly, probably so they would not disturb anyone else. Even without opening my eyes, I knew that it was Guinevere.

"Yes?" I asked, standing up. I tried to conceal my groans of tiredness. Unfortunately, that didn't work out too well.

"There you are, Lancelot," said Guinevere, smiling at me. I noticed that her hair was disheveled, and she looked as if she hadn't slept at all for days. I guessed that it was she that had been tossing about in her sleep the night before

"How is she?" I asked. Guinevere shrugged sadly.

"The same," she said. "She hasn't moved a bit."

I moved with her into the carriage, somewhat glad to be out of the cold morning air. Somewhere off in the distance I could hear Bors yelling at some of the peasants. My heart gave a pitiful little twinge. Poor Bors.

"I must find Arthur," Guinevere said.

"I'll keep watch over her," I replied, rubbing my hands together vigorously to try and get some warmth back in them. Guinevere nodded and exited the carriage. I forgot to ask if Tristan had paid his visit yet, but I decided that I would find out soon enough.

I sat at my spot beside Fuliciana and looked down at her, my chin in my hand. Her skin was even paler than the night before, and there was sweat on her brow. Her face was contorted into a grimace, and I wondered if she had been plagued by nightmares.

Looking around for a cloth and a bowl of water, I saw Fuliciana's knife lying on the ground. Smiling, I gently picked it up and slid it under the pillow, where I knew she would want it to be.

"What are you doing?" asked Tristan's voice a moment later. I turned to face him. He was regarding me with his usual smirk of over-confidence. It was an expression that I, myself, often wore.

"Nothing," I replied, like a fool. Tristan shook his head.

"Nothing?" he asked. "You, Lancelot, are never doing nothing if there is a beautiful woman nearby."

"What are you suggesting?" I asked. A red anger filled me, and I stood up, my eyes flashing.

"Nothing," Tristan replied in a mocking tone. I actually considered strangling the man, but I stopped myself.

"Good," I muttered under my breath, growling slightly. Tristan stepped forward and looked Fuliciana over once. He pulled out a new bandage and moved around me. He sighed, making it all too clear that I was an annoyance to him. This time, however, I made no move to go.

"She needs water," he said to me offhand. "Is there any around here?"

"None that I have seen," I replied. Tristan made a face.

"Could you get some? And find her sister. Where is she?"

I didn't bothering answering this last question. Tristan knew where Guinevere was. Either he was trying to rub it in my face that Arthur was spending far more time with Guinevere than he was with I, or he was trying to be funny. If it was the latter, the attempt fell flat. If it was the former, then he was just being a bloody idiot.

I walked to where the remainders of a fire still burned, and saw, with horror, that Dagonet's child-friend was lying on the ground next to it, his eyes closed in sleep. I had forgotten completely about the boy. I wondered if anyone had told him Dagonet was gone.

I picked up a bowl of water that was set out. If someone _was _planning on telling the boy, then it wasn't me. I was concerned with Fuliciana and Fuliciana only. And so, I set out to look for Guinevere.

"I found water," I remarked to Tristan, setting it on the chair that I had been sitting on. "I didn't see Guinevere."

Truthfully, that was a bloody lie. I _had _seen her walking off into the woods, looking behind her all the way as if expecting Arthur to follow. Arthur had just watched her, however. I had not bothered to go after her. Arthur might have gotten the wrong impression.

"Well, water will have to do," Tristan said, dipping a fresh cloth into the bowl and holding it against Fuliciana's wound. I looked away and closed my eyes, suddenly feeling very tired and dizzy. I thought that perhaps I was sick, or becoming sick. Spending every night out in the cold air meant a lot of sickness.

"Do you need any help?" I asked, my eyes still closed.

"No," Tristan said. "I'm done. If you hadn't been closing your eyes, you'd have seen that."

I opened my eyes and saw Tristan looking at me, his normal, cocky smile on his face. I grinned, and Tristan grinned wider in return, shaking his head slightly.

"You've decapitated men with one stroke," he said wondrously. "And yet, you can not watch _this?_" He gestured to Fuliciana's newly bandaged shoulder.

"It's different!" I exclaimed indignantly. Tristan sighed and gathered his things.

"Do you want me to take over the watch?" he asked. I just looked at him pointedly and he shrugged, moving out of the carriage, closing the cloth flap behind him.

* * *

Guinevere returned a few moments later, looking angry and out of breath. She took off her cloak and threw it on her bed and then took the bowl of water from my hands, setting it down on the bed beside Fuliciana. She motioned me to sit, and I did. Guinevere handed me a cloth. I began to wordlessly cleanse Fuliciana's sweat-covered forehead, and Guinevere lifted the bandage to inspect the wound.

She looked at me, a grimace on her face. I nodded sadly and resumed my cleaning. Suddenly, Guinevere gasped.

"She's awake!" she exclaimed. I looked at Fuliciana and saw that her eyes, which had been closed in sleep for the past days, were wide open, staring directly at me.

* * *

**Individual Thanks:**

**Camreyn: **Thanks! I love your reviews; so flattering. Yes, Tristan's crushing on Fuliciana a bit. Poor Lancey is _so _jealous! And, yes, Arthur and Lance things always get me all warm and fluffy inside. I wish I could write better Arthur/Lancelot fluffiness, but I have to make due with what talents I have. Glad you liked the chapter, though!

**Misfit Writer: **Wow! Enthusiastic! Someone like me! Glad you like my story!

**Jemiul: **Yeah, Guinevere's had a bit of a change of heart; that much is for sure. Tristan...well, Tristan's reasons for not telling Fuliciana about his feelings will come into play in the sequel! (That's all I'm going to say. Hehe.)

**Chiefhow: **Haha. I love that comment. The 'though unconscious' thing. I don't know if it was meant to be funny or not, but it was. (To me, anyway, but I'm weird.)

* * *

Thanks again lovely reviewers, and I hope to update soon!


	12. There Will Always Be A Battlefield

Here it is: Chapter 12! I'm trying to write this as fast as I possibly can, so I can get to the sequel faster.

Please review, individual thanks at the end. If you review, I'll be very happy; remember that! (PLEASE.....please?)

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**Chapter 12: **There Will Always Be a Battlefield

"Fuliciana!" I exclaimed, emotions flooding me all at once. I was relived, overjoyed, excited, elated...every good feeling that could have possibly flowed through me at that moment did. Fuliciana blinked once and looked at me as if trying to figure out who I was. Then, she gave me a small, hesitant smile in return.

"We need better water," Guinevere exclaimed over her shoulder as she hurried out of the carriage. I heard, but did not see, her stumble on her way out. Fuliciana's mouth twitched up in a smile as she watched her sister.

"How long have I been asleep?" she asked, shifting slightly and wincing.

"A few days," I replied. For a few moments, I began to smooth her hair as I had done so often in the days when she had slept. Then, I realized what I was doing and stopped. Fuliciana didn't seem to notice. "Tristan wasn't sure you'd awake at all. The wound you sustained was...grievous."

"Will it heal soon?" asked Fuliciana, biting her lower lip nervously.

"Tristan said it should heal enough in a few days that you'll be able to fire a bow," I replied comfortingly. "It'll hurt, he said, but you'll be able."

Fuliciana looked at me and grinned. I grinned sadly in return, my hands itching to reach out and take her own in them. The restraint was killing me, I feared. I wondered what Fuliciana would think if I were to just die without warning in front of her. Would she be sad?

Suddenly, Fuliciana groaned and turned her head, tears present in her eyes. Confused, I turned around to see what she was upset about, and I saw Bors and Dagonet. Well, Bors and the body that had once held Dagonet's soul.

I turned back to Fuliciana, suddenly desperate to comfort her. She looked so helpless lying there (though I knew she would prove that the opposite was true if I were to mention it) and she was so deeply saddened that I wished to pull her into my arms and make all of her pain disappear. The fact that I couldn't do that made me frustrated, and I growled slightly to myself.

"You did all you could," I said, trying to keep my voice level. "It was not your fault. Dagonet willingly gave his life for us."

Fuliciana sighed loudly.

"But needlessly!" she growled. "I should have run sooner. Faster..."

"If you should have run sooner, then I take the blame for that," I said, thinking of how I had held Fuliciana to me as Dagonet ran forward. "I held you back, remember."

There was a small pause as Fuliciana stared down at her hands, thinking to herself. Then, she looked back up at me, and only a fool wouldn't have been able to see the glimmering of moisture in her eyes.

"Lancelot, nothing you say is going to make me feel like I didn't fail," she whispered to me. "For I _did _fail."

I could not deny my protective instincts any longer. My hands clasped hers, and I looked deep into her eyes. To my dismay, she tried to pull her hands back, but I did not loosen my hold on them. I had to help her. I had to protect her, to make her see that she did not fail anybody.

"You didn't fail," I said to her as I moved slightly closer to her. "If you can only imagine, Fuliciana, what it looked like to us as we stood there watching you. You ran out there, yelling, and all of us thought that that was the _bravest _thing that anyone could do. Then, when you reached Dag, all of us saw the pain in your eyes, and I don't think there was an eye that was not wet with tears. And when..." I broke off, the memory of the pain on Fuliciana's face flashing through my brain. I closed my eyes and tried to will it away, but it would not leave. It would never leave, I knew. "And when you fell...all of us yelled, Fuliciana, all of us. Fuliciana...you didn't fail. You immortalized yourself in our eyes with that deed. We will always remember you and your bravery in that moment."

"Isn't that a bit of an exaggeration?" Fuliciana asked, a small shiver of a sob running through her body.

"No, it's not an exaggeration," I replied, holding her hand tighter in mine. "It's not. Fuliciana...you do not value yourself enough."

Fuliciana heaved a great sight and looked out at Bors again. Then, she looked at me, her eyes filled with sadness, and I was once again forced to fight back the biting desire to pull her close to me. It was her next words, however, that really filled me with sadness and longing and let me see the side of Fuliciana that not even Guinevere was allowed to see.

"He never got to go home," she whispered brokenly, and for once her grip tightened on mine, drawing strength from my presence. If she were to draw all of my strength and leave me dead, I wouldn't have cared at that moment, if only she would continue to look at me and hold me like that.

"Dagonet never really wanted to go home anyway," I replied with a shrug, figuring that since I couldn't comfort her physically, I would comfort her verbally instead; or at least attempt to. "Not really. He would go wherever Bors went."

"Where was Bors going?" Fuliciana asked, mildly interested. I had a feeling that she just wanted to change the subject, and I was all too willing to comply.

"Bors planned on staying here and starting his own little place," I replied, grinning fondly as I remembered all of Bors's talk about it. Of course, considering the impending threat of the Saxons and the death of his closest friend and companion, it seemed that Bors's dream had faded from all chance of becoming a reality.

"Killing Woads all the while, no doubt?" Fuliciana asked me softly, grinning up at me. "Just for fun, perhaps?"

"Perhaps," I replied playfully, smirking at her.

"And what of you, Lancelot?" Fuliciana asked me. "Where are you going when you return to the wall?"

"Home," I replied without a thought. "Sarmatia." I had been asked that question so many times that it had become an automatic response.

"You have a family?" Fuliciana asked, her face brightening. I nodded, smiling at the thought of my sister.

"I have a family," I said. "And, finally, I will see them again."

"Tell me about your family," Fuliciana said softly. I began moving my thumb along the back of her hand rhythmically.

"I don't know how many of them still live," I said sadly. "But my sister and brother are no doubt still living."

I absently wrapped my fingers around my sister's carving. So many years, we had been apart. It seemed almost impossible that I would be able to see her again.

"Romans," Fuliciana growled angrily, shaking her head and looking at me, the unshed tears still in her eyes. "I do not think it is even possible to hate Saxons more than I hate those Roman beasts."

"I think the same way you do, Fuliciana," I replied, smiling. Fuliciana smiled back, surprisingly, and then turned her head away, blushing. "What of you, Fuliciana. Do you have a family?"

"I do," she said sadly, shrugging. "My father and my sister. That is all."

"All the others have died?"

"Yes," Fuliciana said simply. "My mother died in battle long before you arrived here. They were doing battle with a rogue band of our own people. My brother, Antora, was disowned by my father when I was young. He stayed in my father's command until he was killed."

I wondered if it was I who had killed Antora. That would have been horrible if it were. By her tone, Fuliciana was still clearly feeling the loss of her brother, and if I were the one who had killed him...

"Not you," Fuliciana said gently, almost reading my mind. "Arthur."

I winced. That was nearly as bad. My greatest and truest friend had killed the brother of the woman I was falling in love with/was feeling an intense amount of lust for.

"You can not be sorry for the people you have killed, Lancelot," Fuliciana said quietly, reaching up her hand and placing it on my shoulder. "It is the fault of the Romans that you are here, not the fault of you."

"I have never been sorry for the people I've killed," I replied, obviously lying through my teeth. What was I to say? Was I to tell her that my dreams were filled with the blue people, crying out my name with eternal hatred and anger? I highly doubted that Fuliciana wanted to know that much about me just yet.

"You are," Fuliciana said simply, obviously seeing through my blatant lie. I see it in your eyes, Lancelot. You do not like to kill, however much you do it. You wish for peace."

Deep in my heart, yes, I do wish for it, but I never allow that wish to consume me as it consumes Arthur, for I know it can never be a reality."

"And why can it not? Do you think the whole world is so opposed to peace that there will never be peace?"

"There will always be a battlefield," I murmured, thinking of the conversation I had had with Arthur the night before we left the fortress.

Fuliciana just looked at me sadly, and I could detect tenderness in her gaze. It was this tenderness that caused me to look away, down to our tightly entwined fingers.

"It is hopelessness like that that gives way to despair," Fuliciana whispered to me softly. "And I would not like to see you in the clutches of despair, Lancelot. You are a strong man, but believe in those words that you just said, and your strength will fall to weakness over time."

I looked back up at her, hoping that she did not see that I shook with the emotions that were threatening to pour out of me. I knew then that I _did _love Fuliciana. She was an amazing woman, and she knew how to read my emotions and my intentions as if we had known one another for our entire lives.

"Do you believe that you will ever find peace?" I asked quietly

"Eventually," Fuliciana replied. "If not when I am alive, then when I die."

"You find comfort in death, then?"

"I would prefer to live, but if death is the only option, then I will take it willingly."

"Why?"

"Why? I cannot answer you that, Lancelot, for I do not know myself. I have never lived a happy life. Perhaps that is why I would not be angry if my life were to end soon."

I stared at Fuliciana, admittedly surprised.

"I wish you wouldn't talk like that," said Guinevere suddenly, appearing out of nowhere in the carriage. I quickly dropped Fuliciana's hand, and my own tingled from touching hers. "Though, I suppose it is the weakness talking, not the strong woman who calls herself a warrior, hmm?"

Guinevere sat beside me and I started nervously, not wanting to go, but not able to stay.

"I hope you mend well, Fuliciana," I said, standing and bowing quickly, looking into her eyes briefly to try and read what I saw there. Nothing. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Lancelot," Fuliciana whispered, and I turned and hurried out of the carriage.

I needed to find Arthur. I needed to ask him what to do. I needed to talk to him. I needed his advice. I needed him. Whenever there was a problem, or whenever I felt homesick and lonely, I went to Arthur. That day was no different. The moment I left the carriage, I set off in search of my commander, making up my mind that I would tell him everything and see what he had to say. I was so busy looking for him that I did not notice Tristan leaning against the side of carriage until I was very far away and happened to look back. As I watched, he nodded at me, and walked in, his confident swagger further deflating my already-wounded ego.

"Lancelot?"

I turned, and saw Arthur walking towards me, a worried frown on his face.

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There you have it. Yay! I know that's a really weird place to end it, but I'm tired and I really want to get this chapter up tonight, so...

**Individual Thanks:**

**E.T.: **Since your review came after I posted Chapter 11, I'm thanking you on this chappie! (Clever, ain't I?) I hope you got the chapter I sent you, and I'm glad you like the story!

**Camreyn: **Nope, not too philosophical. I liked it. I would also like to have Lancelot singing me to sleep. That would certainly be an experience. I'm glad you liked the conversation between Galahad and Lancelot. I liked writing it. Poor Lancelot really doesn't know what to think about anything right now. Of course, in this chapter he finally realizes that he loves Fuliciana, so that's good. Now he just has to figure out why Tristan's being so mean!

**Chiefhow: **I think you and I have the same sense of humor. Of course, my sense of humor is very dark. (My dad and I cracked up throughout most of Dawn of the Dead, just because some of the things were so disgustingly funny. The other people in the theater were giving us funny looks.) I'm really glad you like my story!

Thanks again! Now it's time for me to catch some sleep. (Sleep! Yes!)


	13. Friendship Is Like Love

Here's chapter 13! I'm so close to the sequel, I can almost taste it! I'm glad a lot of you liked the sequel's prologue, and I hope to be working on the sequel soon! But, for now, here's lucky number 13!

Please review! Individual thanks at the bottom!

Forgot a disclaimer all other 12 chapters. Oops. Oh well, I don't own anything, and that goes for the rest of the chapters!

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**Chapter 13: **Friendship is like Love

"Arthur!" I exclaimed, surprised. Arthur moved towards me and put his hand on my shoulder, looking down at me with a knowing expression. I had always hated that he was able to look down on me. I often wished that we were the same height.

"Lancelot, what is wrong," Arthur said to me, his hand moving to my cheek, and then to my neck. "You look..."

"Distressed? Disgusted? Infuriated?" I asked with a huff of a laugh that held no humor. "Tell me Arthur. What do you think is wrong with me? There are so many things wrong with me at the moment that you'd probably guess at least one of them right."

Arthur's eyebrows rose in surprise, and his mouth opened as if he wanted to speak, but no words came forth.

"Lancelot..." he began, but he didn't go any further. I waited for him to say something, anything, but he didn't.

"Arthur, I need your help," I said, sighing heavily. I was never one to ask for assistance, but my heart felt as though it were being slowly unraveled, and I needed to talk to someone about it. Arthur was the only one who could help me.

"Anything."

"Sit?"

"Of course."

Arthur and I sat together beneath a tree, his hand still on my shoulder as if he were afraid that I would drift away if he were to let go for more than an instant.

"I am in love with Fuliciana," I said. "I know...I know I shouldn't dare to say that, not now, but I can not help myself. Being around her...seeing her, touching her...it's infuriating. Frustrating. I can't bear it any longer."

Arthur didn't look at all surprised, and that in itself didn't surprise me much. After all, Arthur had to have seen it somewhat. I was practically stalking the poor woman.

"You have every right to say that you love her," he said with a small hint of a smile. "Love is not something that you can help. It is not something that you can control."

I sighed and looked at the ground, deeply saddened for some reason.

"It is not only that I love her," I began. "But I fear that Tristan loves her as well."

Arthur sighed. Obviously, this was a dilemma for him. Two of his knights were in love with the same woman. Though he was not supposed to have a 'favorite' knight, I was his closest friend, and it was clear that he wanted me to be happy above the others.

"You have competed with the others over women before, Lancelot. Why should this woman be any different?"

"Because I _love _this woman," I said quietly. "I do not just love her for her looks, Arthur, but for her charm...for _her. _Think of it, Arthur. If _Tristan _loves her, then that is an indication that she is a marvelous woman."

Arthur sighed and placed his head in his hands, rubbing the circles under his eyes tiredly. I suddenly felt very guilty, and I stood.

"I am sorry, Arthur," I said, feeling as if I were the greatest fool who ever lived. "My problem, if you can even call it that, is not..."

"Lancelot, don't," Arthur said, almost harshly. I blinked in surprise, taken aback, and awaited Arthur's next words. "Your problem is every bit as important as anything else."

"No, it's not," I said stubbornly. "It is nothing to trouble you with. I shouldn't have asked you. You have much to attend to. I could have asked one of the others, but I was stubborn and came to you. I'm sorry."

"Lancelot, I am not only your commander, but your friend as well. Remember that. Sometimes, I think you forget."

I looked down at the ground and sighed. Arthur stood and placed his hand on my shoulder once again.

"Lancelot, nothing is as important to me as you are."

I did not reply for quite some time. How could I? How does one reply to a declaration of friendship as strong as that one? When I finally did reply, I was quiet and somber.

"Why, Arthur?" I asked. "Why me? Why not Bors, or Tristan, or Gawain. Why did you choose me to be your friend?"

"Friendship is like love," Arthur said comfortingly, pulling me into an embrace as if he could sense the tears prickling in my eyes. "You do not choose it. You feel it. You know it."

I returned Arthur's embrace and nodded slightly in his direction, my eyes downcast, my chin resting on his shoulder.

"Thank you, Arthur," I said lightly. "You have helped me a great deal."

"I have?" Arthur asked, sounding mildly surprised.

"Yes."

"What are you going to do?"

"I am going to...love her, I suppose."

"And Tristan?"

I looked up at Arthur to see him looking at me painfully.

"May the best man win," I said with a heavy sigh.

"Do not count yourself out of the race just yet," Arthur reminded me gently. "You have a fair chance to win her heart, remember."

I laughed without humor once again, and ran my hand through my hair.

"A fair chance?" I said. "A slim chance is closer to the truth."

"It is better than no chance," Arthur reminded me. I grinned.

"Not much," I retorted. Arthur grinned. "Ah, Arthur, go and return to your duties. I'm perfectly well now."

"Are you certain?" Arthur asked me with all the concern that a friend should have.

"Completely," I lied. Fortunately, Arthur didn't see through my lie, and he embraced me once more before walking away.

I sat down again beneath the tree, already deep in thought. _Love is not something you can help. It is not something you can control._ I had a feeling that I was not the only one falling in love with a Woad woman, though at least Arthur had no competition and the woman appeared to return his affections. _Friendship is like love. You do not choose it. You feel it. You know it. _Well, that was certainly true. I tried thinking of what had led me to Arthur, and couldn't think of a single reason that I was so drawn to him in the beginning. Maybe it was just a love for a commander, but it turned into a brotherhood soon after that. Perhaps it was luck, or perhaps it just _was _like Arthur said. Perhaps I felt some special level of connection with Arthur that none of the other knights had with either of us.

Perhaps it was like that with love.

After riding with Arthur for the rest of the day, I settled down to another tree for yet another night under the stars. By this time, I was desperate for a good, warm bed.

I heard something snap near me, and I whirled around, peering into the darkness. Though Tristan hadn't seen any Saxons in his daily scouting round, it was possible that a small band had escaped his notice.

There were no Saxons there. Fuliciana was walking alone, a thin cloak wrapped around her. I felt a great fear seize my heart, and I stood, following her hastily.

She heard me, and she whirled around, her face red with fear and her knife already clutched in one hand. When she saw that it was me, she let out an involuntary sigh of relief.

"Somehow," I said wryly, grinning at her sadly. "Frightening you wasn't as satisfying as I thought it would be."

"You did not frighten me," Fuliciana said, apparently out of breath. "You merely...startled me."

"I startled you?" I asked, tilting my head to one side. "Then I'll have to settle for that, then, won't I?"

"I suppose you will," she replied, sounding cold and angry. I repressed the urge to take a step back.

Fuliciana turned and started walking into the woods, but I could not let her, not even after her obvious coldness towards me.

"Wait!" I cried, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice and failing considerably. When she turned around, I continued sadly. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to speak with my father," she said, moving towards me only slightly.

"There could be Saxons in the woods," I replied.

"Yes, and I have killed Saxons before, Lancelot. If the need arises, I will kill them again."

"Should I travel with you? To..."

"To protect me? No, Lancelot. I assure you, I will be perfectly fine. Your protection is not needed."

I sighed and nodded. Fuliciana rested her hand on my arm, and I took comfort in its warmth.

"I will wait out here for you, then," I said, indicating the shallow woods around me.

"Wait if you will, Lancelot," Fuliciana replied, obviously touched. "But I may not return until late."

"Then I will wait until morning," I said firmly. "If you need my help, just call for me."

Fuliciana looked at me with a trouble expression.

"Lancelot," she said, her eyebrows drawn together in concern. "Are you feeling well? I..."

"I don't want you to be harmed," I said quietly, turning and moving away, running a hand through my hair as I went. There was absolute silence from Fuliciana for a long moment, and then she turned and walked into the woods, away from me.

* * *

I waited for what seemed like forever for Fuliciana to return. Horrible thoughts ran through my head like they had the time I had seen Arthur and Guinevere walking together through the snow.

Finally, I was unable to stand it any longer, and I stood from my place under a tree and walked into the woods after her.

* * *

**Individual Thanks:**

**White Truffle: **Yay! You're back! I'll admit; I was slightly worried for you, but now that you're back, I'm extremely happy! I'm glad you liked the story, and, as always, your review makes me blush! I feel kind of bad for Lancelot in this chapter. Poor guy.

**Camreyn: **Yeah, Lancelot's wicked confused at the moment. Tristan, Fuliciana, Arthur...and the death of Dagonet, of course, has to be affecting him somewhat. Fuliciana's idea of death is slightly twisted, but then again, she didn't have the best life. (I don't really go into it in this story, but in Sister of Guinevere she talks about how her father disowned her brother and how he loved Guinevere more than he loved her.) And, yes, Lancelot depends A LOT on Arthur. That's how I saw it in the movie, anyway.

**Chiefhow: **Well, this chapter came relatively soon, I suppose. Lancelot does lie a lot in my stories, I think, even though they're only little lies. I don't think he likes telling the truth very much. He's not a real emotional guy(though he's _slightly _more emotional than his good pal Tristan), at least not on the outside, but inwardly he thinks about a lot of things and feels a lot of emotions that people wouldn't expect him to be thinking and feeling. Wow, that was a bit much, I have to say, but I think it makes sense. ('Think' being the key word in that sentence.)

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There you have it! Now back to doing my homework (which is what I'm _supposed _to be doing...)


	14. He Mentioned Your Name, Lancelot

I'm on a roll! I'm almost done with chapter 15 too!

Please review! I'm going to stop individual thanks unless there are questions, because I'm really close to the end, and not a lot of people are reviewing.

Those that are reviewing, though; you're the reason I write this! I would have probably stopped posting long ago if you hadn't been egging me on! Thanks so much!

Enjoy!

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**Chapter 14: **He mentioned your name, Lancelot

I did not go far before Fuliciana appeared out of the trees like a dark angel of Arthur's religion, her brown hair looking raven colored in the shadows, her cape swirling about her magically.

"What are you doing?" she asked me, sounding more than mildly surprised as she arched an eyebrow at me questioningly. I smiled nervously.

"You were taking a long time," I said. She wasn't stopping as she reached me, so I was forced to fall into step with her, walking alongside her. "I was beginning to worry."

"I hardly took a long time," she said with a laugh. I stopped and took her arm gently so that she had no choice but to stop as well.

"But I was worried for you," I said. Fuliciana nodded.

"Well," she said, slightly louder than was needed. "Thank you for your concern, Lancelot, really."

I was struck by the harshness and coldness in her voice. Was I that much of an annoyance to her, or was there something else that was bothering her? My instincts told me not to give up on her just yet.

"Fuliciana, I..." I began, not sure what to say. "You never told me what Tristan said to you in the woods that night."

"He said that you sometimes end up hurting those you only wish to befriend," Fuliciana said, sighing with apparent resignation. I grinned at her.

"Ah," I said, trying to sound playful and not discouraged. "Tristan must like you. He would have given you a very cryptic answer otherwise."

"Was your message cryptic?"

"Tristan never liked me much."

"How could anyone _not _like you, Lancelot?" Fuliciana asked playfully. I was surprised, and I felt a faint glimmer of hope in my heart.

"You did not like me for a while, might I remind you," I said.

"Yes, well, I have not known you for fifteen years."

"Perhaps Tristan is slower at recognizing a good man when he sees one. Is that what you are suggesting?"

Fuliciana laughed and started walking again, motioning for me to follow her. We reached a tree on the outskirts of camp, where I stopped and pulled her arm so she would stop as well.

"Tristan told me that some men stick to ale because it is what everyone else drinks, but some men venture to wine because they know that despite everyone else's taunting about not being able to handle ale, that wine simply tastes better," I said in one breath, staring into her eyes pleadingly.

Fuliciana stared at me for a long moment, and then she gave a breathless, incredulous laugh.

"Why would Tristan tell you this?" she asked. I just smirked playfully at her, trying to conceal my fear of rejection. Fuliciana sighed with mock exasperation, throwing up her hands.

"Men!" she exclaimed. I laughed nervously. "Lancelot, you are right, Tristan truly is a mystery. He obviously doesn't know what kind of man attracts me."

I stared at her, unsure of if she was serious or not. Fuliciana turned and kept walking, and this time I didn't bother to follow her. I just stood there, watching her. Then, she turned and looked at me, and flashed me a seductive smile before turning and walking into the carriage.

I stayed standing there for a long moment, not sure what had just happened. Fuliciana was an infuriating woman, but I was beginning to realize that that was what I loved about her. Finally, a real smile appeared on my lips, and I started to walk back towards the camp, deciding to finally take Galahad up on his offer to sit with them, rather than alone; affectionate petting or no affectionate petting.

Of course, Tristan had to be there, saying something to me to completely ruin my mood. The man was everywhere at once. Half of the time he was with Fuliciana, and another large chuck of that time was spent unconsciously tormenting me.

"I see you got to her first, then," he remarked with a half-smile in my direction. "I heard you and Arthur talking."

"Of course you did," I replied, not trying to hide my anger and frustration with him.

I expected Tristan to say something else, but apparently he had nothing to say in reply to my angry words. He just turned and walked back into the woods without a word. I thought about stopping him to confront him; but what good would that do? It would only serve to start a conflict; and that was something that _no one_ needed.

Instead, I moved over to the fire, where Galahad and Gawain sat, talking quietly and sitting rather close together. When they heard me approaching, they both looked up suspiciously, but then looked back down, identical relieved sighs escaping them at once.

"We thought you were Tristan," Gawain said. Galahad nodded. I grinned and sat down across from them, my elbows on my knees as I joined them in staring into the fire. As I said before, I had always been attracted to the fire.

"I just left Tristan," I said absently.

"Is he in another one of his moods?" Gawain asked, laughter in his eyes. I looked from him to Galahad, confused.

"What moods?" I asked.

"You didn't notice him last night?" Gawain asked.

"Obviously not, Gawain," replied Galahad, rolling his eyes. "He was probably off in the woods with Arthur."

"What was Tristan doing last night?" I asked, choosing to ignore Galahad's comment.

"He was storming around, raving about something under his breath. I swear the man has gone mad." Galahad shook his head and took another sip of the bottle of ale that they had somehow acquired. That reminded me of Tristan's comment about wine and ale. Why had he told me that if he wanted Fuliciana for himself.

"He was talking to himself?" I asked, arching an eyebrow and pretending to look only mildly interested. Normally, Galahad would have seen right through the charade, being the observant lad he was, but now he was slightly drunk, and he couldn't care any less.

"Yes. Talking to himself." Galahad laughed. "You should have seen him. The man was waving his hands around, muttering and stomping."

"He was doing this out in the open?" I asked, my eyebrows climbing higher.

"No! Of course not! He was pacing in the woods. Gawain and I were out..." Galahad looked to Gawain for half-a-second before turning back to me. "Walking. We were walking. And...talking. Firewood. We needed ...firewood."

"Get on with the story," Gawain said, rolling his eyes. Galahad nodded.

"Right. We were in the woods, and we heard someone talking. Naturally, we thought it was a Saxon, so we took care to be quiet. It was Tristan, though. He was, like I said, pacing and muttering.

"There never was an odder man," Gawain remarked to me.

"No, there certainly wasn't," I replied thoughtfully. I wondered what Tristan had been raving about, but I didn't have long to wait.

"He mentioned your name, Lancelot," Gawain said, lowering his voice to a whisper. We heard him. He said something about a rival. What are you two up to?"

I realized that I was leaning forward, practically on top of the fire, to hear Gawain's softly spoken words, so I backed away only slightly.

"Nothing," I said vacantly. "I don't have any idea why he might have said that."

Tristan was walking around in the woods at night, talking to himself? I could certainly see Tristan doing that; it seemed like something that he would do. After all, he always was an odd man. I had just never had an idea of _how _odd he really was.

"Nothing?" Galahad asked, arching an eyebrow in almost the exact same manner that I tended to do. "Come, Lancelot. Is it the woman?"

I froze. How did they know about Fuliciana? Well, of course they must know about her. They had to hold me back when I tried to run out onto the ice after her! But how did they know about Tristan and Fuliciana?"

"We see Tristan with her nearly every day," Gawain said, practically reading my mind to answer my question. "But then, we see you with her as well. Galahad and I were thinking...and that was the only thing we could come up with that you two would consider yourselves rivals."

I tried to think, but Galahad and Gawain were staring at me, and thinking wasn't a possibility. So, I said the first thing that came to mind.

"Well, unless we were fighting over who's the better looking," I remarked, grinning. Galahad broke into a laugh.

"Well, the obvious answer to that one is...me!" he exclaimed. Gawain punched him on the arm.

"You look like you've barely reached puberty," he said, grinning. Galahad grumbled under his breath. His age was a sensitive subject for him.

With the conversation out of the deep end and back into shallow waters, I was content to sit and think, in between biting remarks and well-placed sneers, about Galahad and Gawain's words. So Tristan considered me a rival? Well, at least I wasn't the only one who wasn't confident about my ability to seduce Fuliciana.


	15. I Do Not Miss The Way She Looks At You

Writing this on Word, I'm nearly done with chapter 17, and working very hard to get it all done. I'm getting very excited for the sequel!

Please review, as always. Lurkers please come out and review! I used to be a lurker too, but that can all change by just the simple push of a button! (Haha, I amuse myself.)

Thanks to Syerri for all your wonderful reviews and praise. I promise I won't make you live a life without chocolates!!!!

And to Camreyn, I'm pretty sure you've reviewed all my chapters so far, and you always make me think!

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**Chapter 15: **I Do Not Miss The Way She Looks At You

The next day, Guinevere approached me as I was talking to Bors. Bors, who wasn't all that happy to be in the conversation anyway, ran off, leaving me with the dominating woad woman.

"I need to ask you a favor," she said quietly, dropping her gaze to look at the ground.

"What is it?" I asked, curious and, admittedly, slightly nervous as well.

"My people will have to fight a war with these Saxons," she started. "A war which we cannot win. Lancelot, I do not miss the way you look at Fuliciana." She took a pause, looking down at the ground with a heavy sigh. "And I do not miss the way she looks at you."

My eyebrows rose in surprise. So she loved me in return, then. That was certainly a pleasant surprise.

"What would you have me do?" I asked after a moment of shocked silence.

"Take her with you," Guinevere said, finally looking me in the eye. "Take her with you to Sarmatia where she can be safe, and she will have hope for a better life."

I blinked in surprise, taken aback. I had just come to terms with the fact that I loved Fuliciana, and now I was being asked to take her with me back to my home? The more I thought about it, however, the more it made sense. Guinevere knew that I only wanted Fuliciana to be safe, and she said that she saw the way I looked at her. If I were in Guinevere's position, then I would have asked me to take her as well.

"I will ask her," I said.

"You will tell her," Guinevere said firmly, surprising me slightly. "Fuliciana is not as strong-willed as you may think. You have to persuade her to do what is right."

"If she does not want to come..."

"If she does not want to go with you, Lancelot, then you must persuade her. I have faith in you."

I sighed and nodded, looking at the ground.

"I will ask her," I said again. "I will...tell her."

"Thank you, Lancelot," Guinevere said, obviously relieved. "You cannot know what this means to me."

I had nothing else to say, so I just nodded and turned and walked away back towards the other knights.

* * *

"Lancelot!"

I turned and saw Arthur moving towards me. I stopped my task, which was brushing my horse, and faced Arthur completely, managing to plaster a smile on my face. We were so close to the wall. So close. When we got back to the wall...it was only a matter of time before Arthur and I were separated. I could not bear that thought.

"Arthur," I said, embracing my friend in a one-armed hug as he neared me.

"How are you, Lancelot?" Arthur asked me quietly, and I did not miss the concern in his deep, gray/green eyes.

"Better," I said with a smile.

"Guinevere told me of what she asked you to do," Arthur said with a sigh. I nodded, grimacing at the same time.

"Yes," I said. "She seems as if she wants me to tie Fuliciana to my bloody horse if she doesn't want to come."

"Do you think she will go...willingly?" Arthur asked, sounding more than just mildly concerned, as always. I looked at him, and smiled with confidence that I didn't feel.

"Why wouldn't she want to go with me, Arthur?" I asked. Arthur smiled, but he didn't respond. It was clear that he didn't believe my façade of confident happiness.

"Are you certain that you are all right?" Arthur asked, reaching his hand out and putting it on my shoulder comfortingly. "I have hardly seen you close your eyes in the past days."

"You have been watching me?" I asked, slightly taken aback.

"Of course," Arthur said. "Remember, Lancelot, that I am your friend. Your safety comes before all others."

"Not sleeping is hardly going to affect my safety," I remarked, still keeping that damned foolish smile on my face.

Arthur just smiled back at me and patted me on the shoulder once more before turning and walking away. I wanted to call him back, to tell him to stay with me...but what would I say? There was no reason for me to want him near me, except that I didn't want him to leave. That was hardly a good enough reason.

* * *

We reached the wall later that day. I rode close beside Arthur, and the two of us spoke of nothing in particular, each of us trying to keep our minds off of the inevitable separation that awaited us once we reached the wall. Every step Dalai took closer to the wall, my heart clenched tighter and tighter within me.

How could I leave him?

By the time we reached the wall, I felt as thought my heart was going to break. We all gathered in the circle, where Bishop Germinus stood, regarding us with a huge smile on his face. Even when we led in Dagonet's empty horse, with the loyal knight's body strapped atop it, his smile did not fade.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, sounding very surprised. "Good! Christ be praised! Against all the odds Satan could possibly...Alecto!" He embraced Marius's young son, his smile growing even wider. "Let me see you! You have triumphed! Let me see you! You are here!"

I happened to look past this 'happy scene' and saw Fuliciana watching Alecto and the bishop from where she stood at the mouth of the carriage. She looked tired, but beautiful, and for the first time, Guinevere's words really hit me. I would be taking her with me, and she would be mine forever.

My mind snapped back to attention when Lucan jumped off the carriage and ran towards Dagonet's body, tears flying in every direction. Some of the Roman mercenaries tried to go after them, but Galahad and Gawain stopped them. Lucan stopped in front of Dagonet's horse and gently tugged Dagonet's ring off the man's cold, dead finger. Guinevere went after him, and she looked back at Fuliciana as she stood there, creating a tragic picture that had Bors sobbing all over again.

"Great knights," chuckled the bishop nervously, taking a step back, as if that would save him if one of us were to lunge forward. "You are free now! Give me the papers. Come, come." He beckoned to the mercenaries holding the box, almost frantically, and then held out the papers to Arthur, who stood regarding him with a stony cold demeanor. I was surprised to see the expression on Arthur's face, as we had only just been talking, and he had seemed perfectly happy to me. Well, as happy as Arthur ever got.

The bishop's eyes traveled to every one of us, nervousness clear on his face. It was obvious that he was frightened for his own safety. I couldn't say I blamed him. After all, who knows what Bors might have done if it occurred to him to attack the bishop?

"Your papers of safe conduct throughout the Roman Empire!" exclaimed the bishop, still wearing that ridiculously happy grin on his face. "Take it, Arthur!"

Arthur strode towards the bishop, a sneer curling his mouth. The bishop held up the papers nervously, but Arthur did not take them. He just stood, very close to the bishop.

"Bishop Germinus," he spat, and the bishop flinched slightly. "Friend of my father."

With that, he turned and walked away, into the fort, leaving the rest of us outside, waiting for something to happen. Finally, when it became apparent that no one was planning on moving any time soon, I stepped forward and took the papers out of the box roughly. I began moving along the line, handing them out to Galahad, then Gawain, then Tristan (who grinned at me confidently as I walked by). Finally, I held three papers; one for myself, and one for Bors. The other, of course, was intended for Dagonet.

I handed two papers out for Bors, as all the other knights looked away studiously; even Tristan. I managed to make eye contact with Fuliciana, but she looked away quickly.

"Bors," I said, waving the papers at Bors. His eyes were unfocused, and tears were running down his face. I waited for a few moments until it became apparent that he wasn't going to react. I shoved the papers against his chest. "Bors!" I exclaimed. Bors looked down at me as if he wasn't sure who I was or why I was there. "For Dagonet," I said, indicating the second deed that I held in my hand.

"He doesn't need this to be a free man!" Bors exclaimed, taking the deeds and looking around at everyone. "He's already a free man." Bors threw the deeds to the ground at the bishop's feet. "He's dead."

With that said, he moved out to the courtyard where Vanora waited for him with tears running unchecked from her eyes. Galahad and Gawain, both looking disgusted with the bishop, stepped forward and picked up the deeds from his feet. Tristan, after a pause, moved forward and took the box from the mercenaries. After examining it closely, he nodded and moved off to the courtyard with the others, nodding at Fuliciana as he passed. Guinevere hurried off, no doubt to find Arthur, and Lucan went with Valoria, Marius's wife.

Fuliciana started walking towards me, and I knew that this would be the moment that I asked her to go with me to Sarmatia. The bishop watched her walk with something in his eyes that I didn't recognize; nor did I want to.

"Lancelot," she said sadly as she reached me.

"Fuliciana," I replied. "I need to talk to you."

"Oh?" Fuliciana asked, sounding slightly surprised.

"Yes," I said, closing the distance between the two of us.

"Where?" Fuliciana asked, glancing at the Bishop out of the corner of her eye. I looked at him, glaring, until he hurried away, muttering something to himself under his breath that I didn't hear.

"Fuliciana," I said, sighing. This was going to be hard. How was I supposed to tell her? "I spoke with Guinevere this morning."

"Oh?" Fuliciana asked, seeming quite confused.

"She has asked...suggested that you...you journey with me, to Sarmatia."

There was a long pause, and Fuliciana stared up at me, her face contorted in confusion.

"What?" she asked incredulously. She was definitely, without a doubt, beyond confused.

"She does not want to chance you being lost in battle!" I explained hurriedly. "She wants you to find safety and happiness, and she thinks you will find both of them with me."

There was another impossibly long silence, and then Fuliciana sighed.

"Lancelot...I..." she said. I reached out and took her hand, holding it tightly in my own.

"Please, Fuliciana," I whispered. "Please consider it."

I expected another long pause, but this time it only took a moment for Fuliciana to answer.

"No," she said, sounding slightly surprised with her own answer. "No, Lancelot. I cannot go with you."

I dropped her hand, and I felt a great stab of pain in my heart. Fuliciana had rejected me. She did not really love me. I had never been rejected by a woman before. It was a new feeling, and it was not one that I particularly enjoyed. I couldn't think of what to say; everything sounded too uncaring, too cold.

"I'm sorry," Fuliciana whispered.

She turned and ran from me; and I was powerless to stop her.


	16. I Cannot Follow You, Lancelot

Here's chapter sixteen! I'm working on chapter 18 now, and will probably finish tonight, so I'm pretty excited. I'm really working hard to get this done (despite the fact that I am now addicted to "Lost", Sims 2, and making backgrounds!)

Please review, and enjoy this chapter. I'm happy to supply more chocolates for my lovely reviewers, as always!

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**Chapter 16: **I Cannot Follow You, Lancelot

Rather than mingling with the others as I usually would, on this night, I returned to my room and took a nap. Lancelot, the great Sarmatian Knight, took a nap on his last day of servitude to Rome. Noble. Very noble.

There was a reason I did it, of course. I knew that if I got drunk with the others, then I would have ended up bedding a pretty barmaid. Fuliciana would have found out about it, and that would have ruined any chances of her returning to Sarmatia with me.

And why did she not want to go? Was it because she loved Tristan? Was it because she could not stand the thought of leaving her sister behind? Was it because she did not love me as Guinevere thought?

I did not know, but I wasn't ready to give up. Not yet. I would beg her if I had to. I would beg her on my knees, and the gods knew that I hated anything that put a man on his knees. I had to have her with me when I left for my home.

* * *

It was much later in the evening when I finally left my room and went out looking for someone to talk to. I was hoping for either Fuliciana or Arthur, but neither of them were about, so I settled for Galahad and Gawain, who were standing at the top of the wall, staring out at something. I joined them, and saw across the field a myriad of scattered fires, all burning strong.

"Saxons," I said, and Galahad nodded.

"Saxons," he agreed.

"I'll get Arthur," I muttered, and I headed back into the fort.

As I was walking quickly down the hallway where Arthur's room was, I passed Fuliciana and Guinevere's room. A little ways past it, I stopped and turned back. I figured that I'd bring them with me to the wall. I knew that they would want to see it, and it also gave me a chance to try and persuade Fuliciana once again.

I knocked on the door, and there was a short pause before it was flung open by Guinevere. I looked past her and saw Fuliciana sitting on her bed, staring at me.

"Come to the wall," I said breathlessly. Guinevere turned and looked at Fuliciana, who was already moving towards the door. Then, she shook her head with a sigh. I knew immediately that she had been talking to Fuliciana about traveling with me, and apparently she hadn't changed Fuliciana's mind.

Guinevere started moving into the hall, towards the wall. I watched Fuliciana helplessly, begging her with my eyes to stop and talk with me, just for a moment. Just one word that would let me know that she did not hate me. However, she just pushed past me and moved out the door after her sister. With a heavy sigh, I turned and moved towards Arthur's room.

* * *

Together, the four of us reached the wall a short time later. The other knights were still there, and by this time, a huge crowd of peasants had gathered. I had to push my way through them to make a path to the stairs, and we hurried up.

Fuliciana peered over the wall, and it wasn't hard, even for me, to see the fear on her face as she stared out at those hundreds of campfires. Her mind was calculating as mine had earlier; trying to figure out exactly how many Saxons there were out there. As a gesture of comfort and protection, I reached out and rested my hand on her back, at the base of her neck. When she moved back to stand beside me so her sister could look, she did not remove my hand.

When it was Arthur's turn, he stared off into the darkness, peering as if something other than glittering campfires lay out there; as if he was trying to see the individual barbarians going about their business. Knowing Arthur, I wouldn't have been surprised if he actually _was _trying.

After what felt like an eternity, Arthur turned his head and looked at me, tilting it in question. I shrugged; what was there to ask? There were Saxons out there. That was even more of a reason for us to leave the following morning, though I was loath to leave Fuliciana behind.

Arthur nodded in reply, sadly, almost, and then looked at Fuliciana. From there, his eyes traveled to the knights standing behind me, down to the peasants, and then finally came to rest on Guinevere. Then, he straightened and regarded us very seriously. His eyes darted, but when they were still, they remained on me, boring into my soul, driving his words into the very center of my heart.

"Knights, my journey with you ends here. May God go with you."

Arthur's declaration wasn't completely unexpected, but I still felt as though someone had dropped all of Bors's weight onto my chest. My throat closed, and I couldn't breathe. My heart stopped, and my grip tightened on Fuliciana's back before I released her and slumped against the stone wall wearily. How could he stay behind?

Well, it wasn't like it was completely unexpected. Any fool would be able to see the way Arthur and Guinevere clung to one another. How could I have thought that Arthur was going to leave her behind? Arthur was a noble man; he would not let his lady stay behind to die while he rode off to safety. Would I?

Arthur turned and began walking away. I could not bear it, so I ran after him.

"Arthur!" I cried, managing to keep _most _of the desperation out of my voice. Arthur stopped and turned around to face me, his expression blank. "This is not Rome's fight! This is not _your _fight! All these long years we've been together, the trials we've faced, the blood we've shed...what was it all for, if not for the reward of freedom?"

Arthur looked me in the eye, but did not reply. His eyes, normally so expressive, had slammed their fortress doors tight, not allowing me in. How could he shut me out at a time like this, when we both so desperately needed one another? How could he? I continued with my desperate plea, not paying attention to what I was saying, but just getting it out.

"And now that we are so close! When it is finally in our grasp..." I noticed that Arthur was looking past me, his eyes unfocused. Why could he not bring himself to look at me? "Look at me!"

I pulled Arthur's face towards mine, and saw his face slowly begin to crumble until his entire emotional barrier fell away, and I could see the pain beneath.

"Does it all count for nothing?" I asked in conclusion, quietly. Arthur thought for only a moment before replying with his voice cold.

"You ask me that? You who know me best of all."

With those final words, he turned and began to walk away. I could not let him go yet. I had to stop him.

"Then do not do this!" I yelled, following my friend and commander dutifully. "Only certain death awaits you here. Arthur! I beg you! For our friendship's sake, I beg you!"

Arthur stopped and moved towards me so swiftly that I thought he was going to strike me. However, his hand instead gently placed itself on my cheek, and his fingers buried themselves in my curls.

"You be my friend now and do not dissuade me," he said in a voice so full of emotion that it startled me into silence. I could think of no words to say in reply to his. "Seize the freedom you have earned and live it for the both of us." I wanted to tell him that there was no life worth living without him by my side, but I could not. My mouth would not open; my lips would not form the words. My damned foolish pride kept me silent. "I now know that all the lives I have taken, all the blood that I've shed, has led me to this moment...I cannot follow you Lancelot."

My heart felt as if it were being ripped from my chest and eaten by wild dogs. Arthur was telling me goodbye. He was telling me that he would never see me again after the next morning. He would be dead to me. The thought was too much for me to bear, and apparently it was for Arthur as well, for he started to walk away again, past me. His arm dragged across my chest, and I held onto it as he walked away, longing to hold onto it forever, if only it meant that he would not leave me. He was my greatest friend; how could I just leave him to die?

As Arthur walked away, I turned to look at Fuliciana. She stared back at me, her eyes wide like a frightened child. She started to back away slowly, back into the crowd of peasants. Before I could make a move towards her, she turned and fled into the shadows.

I did not follow her. I wanted to; I longed to, but I did not. Instead, I watched her run. My heart felt as if it were going to stop out of pure pain.

"She wishes to stay behind to fight," Guinevere said, so close to my side that it startled me. I looked down at her and shrugged.

"What does it matter, now?" I asked quietly. "I shall never see her again."

"You do not know that," Guinevere said. "I have faith. With Arthur on our side..." She wisely left that sentence unfinished. Obviously, she could see that Arthur's decision to stay was not something I was happy with, despite the fact that it gave the Woads a greater chance in the battle.

"I'm returning to my room," I said with a sigh, but Guinevere put out a hand to stop me.

"She loves you," she blurted. "She does. I don't...I don't want you to think that she doesn't. She does. She does more than she even knows, herself. Lancelot, you have to believe me."

"It doesn't matter now," I said through clenched teeth. "Do you think I want to know that she loves me? It will make leaving tomorrow all the more difficult!"

Guinevere sighed and looked up at the stars. Then, her eyes traveled back down to mine, but her chin remained tilted towards the heavens.

"She loves you," she said firmly. "Whether or not you want to know it."

"If she loves me so much," I said finally, sounding angrier than I meant to. "Then why did she run out there?" I gestured wildly into the shadows surrounding us. Though I looked very hard into the darkness, I could not see her there. She must have gone far, then.

"She is afraid of hurting you," Guinevere explained, though she didn't sound too sure.

"Well she's already hurting me," I muttered under my breath. Guinevere's face contorted with pity, and she reached out a hand to place on my arm. Then, she sighed. She seemed about to say something, but I didn't want to hear it. "Goodbye, Guinevere," I said, pulling away from her and walking back in the direction of the fort.


	17. The Scar You Made Is Here

Chapter 17's up! Very exciting, I know.

Some of you may have noticed that I...er...reviewed my own work. That was probably the DUMBEST thing I've EVER done. Seriously. I thought I was reviewing Gentle Apocalypse by Ivory Novelist. (Read it, by the way. If my stories are like chocolates, hers are like...I don't know, but something way better and totally mouth-watering.) So, yeah, overlook that little mistake, please. It was just me being dumb.

I'm probably going to be typing a lot more in the upcoming week. After all, there's Thanksgiving Vacation, which means that "Lost" isn't on, and I don't have anything to do Wednesday night, no school, and a whole bunch of other things!

Just thought I'd rant for a bit. In my Creative Writing class, we have a write a speech and say it in front of the class. Even though I'm reading it with my friend, I seriously think I'm going to pass out during the speech. I'm so shy, and I'm SUCH a bad public speaker. That's why I love this website because no one has to know who you are. (Unless you're in my creative writing class and put two and two together and figured out that it was me...or unless you're Eryn...)

So, there's my rant for the day! Please review, as always, and thanks to everyone who has reviewed for your loveliness.

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**Chapter 17: **The Scar You Made Is Here

Instead of returning to my room, I instead sat myself down in front of my door and put my head in my hands, growling to myself under my breath.

"Why?" I asked myself under my breath. "Why does life have to be so bloody complicated?"

No one answered. (Somewhat fortunately, or else I'd have been slightly frightened). I was left sitting in the dark, talking to myself, and wallowing in my bloody self-loathing. Being disgusted with myself was nothing new, but hating myself, and my life, to the point of almost wanting to end it was something entirely new. Of course, I'd have never actually killed myself. I was one of those souls who valued life above all other things, however much I talked about life being a hell. Life _was_ a hell, but it was better than the unknown.

I stood up before even realizing that I had done it, and I was walking down the hall before I could stop myself. Of course, the real question is; did I _really _want to stop myself?

I stopped at Fuliciana's door. Truthfully, I had intended on heading to Arthur's room to try and persuade him to leave with us the following morning, but the moment I saw Fuliciana's open door, my feet had other plans for me. They abruptly stopped moving, and I stood there in the doorway, staring at Fuliciana's back as she stood in front of her bed, staring at something.

Suddenly, she turned, and when she saw me, she let out a little sigh of relief. Who she was expecting to see, I do not know, but it gave me a small amount of happiness to know that she was glad to see me, somewhat. The two of us just stood there, staring at one another, with me breathing too heavily in the effort to keep my tears at bay. Finally, when it seemed that Fuliciana would not move until I left, I turned to go, defeated once again by this beautiful woman who held my heart.

"Lancelot!" she cried suddenly, moving towards me. I turned just as she flung her arms around my neck, and I was pushed backwards a few steps, unprepared for this (pleasant) surprise. She buried her face in my neck, beginning to sob. "Lancelot!"

After the initial shock wore off, I allowed my arms to tentatively circle her waist. As her sobbing continued, I held her tight, wondering if it was some cruel game of the gods to allow me to have her in my arms the night before she would fight to her death. As her sobs gradually faded, however, I pulled away from her lightly.

"Fuliciana..." I began, not sure about where to start, but planning on begging her to go with me to Sarmatia the following morning. However, I did not get very far. Fuliciana interrupted me with her face sad and her voice filled with tears. Tears for me once again.

"Lancelot, I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes staring at the ground, her hands clutching mine tightly. "I just could not bear to cause you anymore pain."

I wanted to comfort her with lies and false assurances. I wanted to tell her that I would always be happy as long as she was alive, but I could not. I had to make another feeble attempt at getting her to go with me, and not stay in Britain, the hellhole that it is.

"Then do not stay!" I roared. "I cannot bear the thought of you..."

I did not finish that sentence. Part of me would not allow me to. It was too impossible to imagine, her death. For though I had only known her for a short number of days, it seemed as though she had become a part of me.

I stood there for a long while, trying to think of what to do, with my hand against my forehead. Her hand lingered on mine; a ghost of her touch against my skin. I could not take my eyes off her, and I wanted nothing more than to remain staring at her forever, but I could not. I turned to go, but her broken whisper stopped me.

"Lancelot," she whispered, her voice hoarse from crying. "I'm sorry."

I never expected to see the woman cry. She was proud and strong, and that was what had first won my interest. But she was revealing her other side to me. She was revealing that she, like I, was not too proud to cry if the circumstances warranted it.

I turned back. Looking at her there, her hair shimmering in the dim candlelight, with shadows dancing across her face, she seemed to be beautiful and tragic, as she had when I had lain her in the carriage on the first day we met. Only now she was even more beautiful to my eyes because this was probably the last time I would ever see her, alive or dead, in my living life. Normally, I was not one to believe in the afterlife, but with Fuliciana standing in front of me, going to her death the next morning, any kind of afterlife with her would have been welcome.

I stepped very close to her, so close that my chest grazed hers with every breath. She did not back away. She did not even flinch. She just looked up at me with big, sad eyes, and she waited. I did not know if she was waiting for what I would deliver, or if she was waiting for me to make another plea, but I took a risk.

I bent my head towards hers and captured her lips with mine. For a moment, she just stood there, stunned, and then she placed her hands flat on my chest, and pushed me away.

I was hurt, confused, and angry all at the same time. Her hands still gripped my arms, white and shaking. Her mouth was trying to form words, but she was failing miserably. I only stared down at her hopelessly.

I thought she was going to send me from her room with a few angry words, but what she did next surprised me even more. She flung her arms around my neck and kissed me so suddenly and with so much passion, that I had to use all my strength to remain upright. At it were, I had to take a step backwards.

My hands made their way to her waist, and I held her close to me, protecting her and keeping her safe from anything that might dare try and take her from me. Her hands fixed themselves in my curls, and she combed through them delicately.

"I love you," I whispered, breaking apart from the kiss for only a moment. "I do. I love you."

"I love you as well," Fuliciana murmured, cupping my cheek in one hand. She was shaking, and her eyes were overflowing with tears that she did try to hide any longer. "I do."

Our lips met again, and I was admittedly surprised when Fuliciana started moving the two of us towards her large bed in the center of the room. I pulled away.

"Are you certain...?" I asked uneasily. Fuliciana looked up at me with a small smile on her face.

"How many barmaids have you bedded in your lifetime?" she asked me. I hung my head, and I felt a jolt of fear shoot through me. How many barmaids had I slept with? Many, but I didn't want her to know that. (Her intelligence had just become another thing that I loved about her.) Thankfully, she just used her instincts, and answered for me. "Many, no doubt. Have you ever hesitated?"

"No," I replied, feeling some guilt.

"Then do not hesitate with me." Fuliciana brought her head closer to mine, and I tightened my hold on her waist. She was so impossibly beautiful, and what I was feeling for her was something entirely new that I had never felt before.

"But I did not love the barmaids," I whispered to her hoarsely. Fuliciana gave me the faintest of smiles, and we stood there, silent, wrapped in each other's arms with our lips just a breath away from touching.

For once, I had said something that made perfect sense. I _hadn't _loved the many women I had bedded over the years, but I _did _love Fuliciana. For once, I wasn't impatient to get to the bed, though Fuliciana apparently was. I would have been perfectly content to remain standing there forever, wrapped in her arms, whispering promises that would never be fulfilled because of our eternal lack of movement. I would do anything if only she would not have to fight the following morning.

But the moment had to end, as all moments do, and then our lips were one, and we tumbled onto the bed, with Fuliciana already moving to slide my tunic over my head. She was very skilled at removing my clothes without breaking our lips apart for more than a moment, and I began to wonder how many times she herself had lain with another man. She didn't seem like the type to sleep around, like I was, but it seemed that I was wrong in judging her character.

Her fingers moved over my scars, and I felt her tears on my lips. She was crying for me, just as she had cried for me those years ago when she had seen me fighting. I hated to see any woman cry, but to watch Fuliciana cry was like watching the stars fall from the sky. It broke my heart.

"The scar you made is here," I whispered to her gently, placing her hand in the center of my chest. "But I feel no pain from that scar; only peace and bliss."

Fuliciana looked down and blushed, though it was hard to see in the dim light. More tears ran down her cheeks, and I pulled her chin up, kissing them away. At that moment, it stuck me how fragile Fuliciana really was. She was so small in my arms, so breakable. I wanted to hold her to me forever, to absorb any pain that would be directed at her, to protect her from all the horror of the world outside the warm, soft blankets surrounding us.

"I cannot bear to ever let you go," she whispered to me, her hands moving to hold on to my forearms. I smiled, though I felt a great sadness fill me at her words, and I moved my hands to rest lightly on her hips. My forehead fell forward to rest on hers, and I looked down into her beautiful eyes, which were so close to mine.

"Then do not go," I whispered, trying yet again to convince her to travel with me. If begging and pleading had not worked, then maybe my so far irresistible charm would. "Do not stay here. Come with me, and I will be yours forever. You will never have to let me go. Ever."

She shook her head, and once again my heart felt as though Fuliciana had deliberately stomped on it. Why would she not go with me, if she loved me as she claimed? What was stopping her? I longed to know, but could not find the right words to ask. I could only stare at her, my eyes welling up with tears. Tears that made me realize just how much I needed this amazing, beautiful woman in my life. I did not cry often. The only other person I ever cried for was Arthur.

"I can't," she murmured, and it was as if she were grinding my heart in the dust under the heel of her boot. "I'm sorry, Lancelot, but I...I can't."

I could not breathe, could not think. I could only feel the lump in my throat growing. How could I face life without her? How could I live knowing that she was dead? How could I find any joy in life?

She was looking at me, and I saw the turmoil reflected in her eyes. She _wanted _to go with me, but she _couldn't._ Something was keeping her from going. Something...well, I wasn't quite sure _what _that something was, but it had to be something strong. Loyalty, perhaps? Love for her sister and father?

"Then we will make the most of tonight," I said, after lightly pushing her back on the pillow and pressing my lips to hers lightly. "I will treasure the memory."

The memory? Was that what she would be to me after that night? A memory to be remembered and held dear to my heart? Would I forget her once I had found another woman? Would I ever find another woman? I, personally, saw myself sleeping with an untold number of women, trying to find one, just one, who's beauty matched that of Fuliciana, so I could pretend that it was, indeed, her.

And so our lips met again, and I tried not to think of the following morning, when I would be leaving for Sarmatia without her. But try as I might, I could not forget. Every tear, every half-suppressed sob from Fuliciana only served to refresh my memory, and all I could so was hold her tighter and pray to any Gods that were listening to keep her safe.


	18. I Will Stay

Here we are (finally). I decided to post this chapter, since I haven't done it in a really long time. I'm working on chapter 21 right now, which is the last chapter! I'm so excited! Pretty soon, I'll be on to the sequel!

Please read and review! My boost of confidence that results will make me happy!

For anyone who cares, the speech went well. (Besides the fact that I got slightly dizzy during the end of it. ) Glad it's over with, though.

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**Chapter 18: **I Will Stay

Sometime later, Fuliciana and I lay in silence. Her head rested against my chest, and her arms were around my waist. I pulled her closer to me with one arm across her shoulders.

"Are you cold?" I asked her quietly. She shook her head, but nuzzled deeper into my chest. I smiled and pulled the blanket up around her. She looked up at me and smiled broadly.

"I wish the sun would fall out of the sky," she whispered, lying her head back down. "So it could stay night forever."

I started to say to her that she could always leave with me the next morning, but I closed my mouth at the last moment and thought better of it. After all, it was the last thing that Fuliciana needed; me once again begging her to run away with me. I doubted she'd appreciate it if I brought it up again.

"I'm sorry, Lancelot," she whispered mournfully, sighing. I sighed in return and plastered on a smile for her benefit.

"For what?" I asked. Fuliciana looked up at me and saw my smile. I couldn't really tell, but I'd say she looked rather confused. "You did just fine. In fact, I'd go so far as to say you were the best I've ever had."

"No!" Fuliciana exclaimed with a small laugh, hitting my arm gently. "That's not what I meant!"

"Then what are you sorry for?" I asked, dropping the fake smile for a more serious face.

"I'm sorry that I can't go with you."

"You could," I reminded her pointedly.

"I could, but I can't."

"Well, that doesn't make any sense!"

"It does if you think about it."

"Well…I suppose it does, but I just want you to come with me."

Fuliciana heaved a great sigh and sat up. I sat up reluctantly, and she turned to look at me, tears once again in her eyes.

"Lancelot, if I went with you, I doubt I would be able to smile, really smile, ever again. I would constantly be thinking of Guinevere and my father, Merlin and all the people I've known and grown up with!" She looked at me imploringly, but I looked away. She reached out and took my hands in hers, and she continued with a softer tone. "I would be living a half-life, Lancelot. I do not want to burden you with me! I have no other choice than to stay and fight!"

I thought for a moment, trying to think of the best way to transfer my feelings into words. I was angry; angry with myself and with those damn Saxons. I wasn't angry with Fuliciana. I could never be angry with her. Finally, I reached forward and grabbed her shoulders, staring deep into her eyes.

"Do you think I can lead a full life knowing that you are dead?" I asked her incredulously. "Do you think that anything I do will not remind me of you and this moment? This night? Do you think that I will _ever _be able to do _anything_ without thinking of you?"

"I am sorry, Lancelot," Fuliciana whispered brokenly, a sob shaking her body. I groaned inwardly. I had made her cry again. What kind of a lover was I? "I did not mean for you to love me as I loved you."

What? She had not meant for me to love her? How could she possibly think that I didn't love her? I was desperately in love with her; I thought that much was clear. Even before I professed it to her, she had to have seen something.

"You did not believe I loved you?" I asked, slightly hurt by her words. Did she believe that I only wanted her in my bed as a toy, that I did not truly love her as I claimed?

"I wasn't certain," Fuliciana replied, tightening her arms around me as if to make up for her earlier beliefs. "I hoped, desperately so, that you only enjoyed my company, like one of those many barmaids you have bedded over your fifteen years here."

"No!" I exclaimed suddenly, desperate to prove my love to her. "That's not true, I…"

"I know now," Fuliciana interrupted me in a soft whisper, her fingers curling around mine. She raised my hand to her lips, kissing it gently. When she looked up at me next, her eyes were filled with unshed tears that threatened to fall over the brim at any moment. "And all I can say is that it would be best for you to forget me."

Forget her? My mind wandered ahead into the future, and I could clearly see me and the other knights arriving at my village, where everyone would greet us, smiles on their faces. My sister would, no doubt, cry from her happiness, and my mother would probably spend the entire time cradling me like a child, much to the amusement of the other knights.

But would I ever truly be happy? I was certain that, in time, I would learn to smile again, but thinking of Fuliciana would probably always make me sad. I would spend time thinking of what would have been, and I would have dreamt about it, making sleep nearly impossible. No, I could not be happy.

"No," I said aloud, looking at her deeply. "I will stay."

I do not know what I expected her reaction to be, but I did not expect her eyes to widen in fear. I did not expect her to shake her head vehemently and stare at me as if I was a madman.

"No!" she exclaimed. "You cannot!"

"Why not?" I asked, feeling hopeless once again.

"Lancelot, Arthur does not want you to stay," Fuliciana said pointedly, though I thought that there might be another reason that she was not telling me. "I imagine that he doesn't want you to get hurt."

"I can fend for myself in battle, Fuliciana," I pointed out. Fuliciana gently reached up her hand and let it trail along my cheek, her gaze softening as she looked at me, trembling as always.

"I am not questioning that," she whispered. "But these are impossible odds. You would not survive."

If I had had any hope that Fuliciana would survive the following morning, it was dashed by those words. She had just admitted to me that she did not think she would survive the impending battle. Did she _want _me to grieve for her for the rest of my life?

"But you are fighting!" I told her. "Arthur is fighting! Why…?"

"You cannot fight because this is not your home!" Fuliciana exclaimed suddenly, startling me greatly. "This is not your battle, Lancelot! This is _our _battle!" Her tone softened, and she looked at me with her big, sad eyes. If was as if she knew I could not resist her when she looked at me like that. "The only battle you have to be facing from now on is the journey home."

She was wrong, though I did not say it aloud. She was very, very wrong. The journey home was hardly a battle compared to the battle that I was going to be facing for the rest of my life. The battle with my memories. Perhaps it would be different if I hadn't slept with Fuliciana, if we hadn't given into our desires and experiences something so beautiful and magical that it would stay with me forever. Perhaps it would have been different if I had never heard her say 'I love you' to me, with her voice laden with tears. Perhaps all things would be different. At the moment, I would not rather be anywhere else, but I knew that in the morning, I would be wishing that the night had never happened.

With all these thoughts running through my head, I lay back on the pillow heavily with a sigh. A tear managed to escape the confines of my eyelids before I wiped it away. I tried to make my fears go away by just looking at the ceiling, trying to obtain some amount of inner peace.

"Lancelot," Fuliciana whimpered softly. She lay down beside me in the same position as before, with her head on my chest, and I couldn't help but pull her tight against my side. "Lancelot, I love you. I'm sorry."

I winced. She said it again. She said those three words that I would be hearing in my head for the rest of my life. _I love you_.

"And I love you," I whispered in reply, my voice trembling as I managed to plant a kiss on the top of her beautiful brown head. I felt her sigh in content, and then she was still. I still wanted to argue. I still wanted to tell her that I wanted to stay by her side and fight with her, but I could not. Something was stopping me from telling her. Something was stopping me from doing anything at all.

Arthur. She had said to me that Arthur did not want me to fight. That was what was keeping me from fighting. Only that. If Arthur did not want me to fight, then I could not fight. Arthur was everything to me and more. Though I loved Fuliciana as a lover, I loved Arthur as a best friend, and some would say that that is even more important. (That's not to say, however, that Fuliciana wasn't important. Fuliciana was everything to me as well, but in a different category.)

And so I drifted off to sleep with my woman in my arms and my head full of thoughts of death.


	19. The Gift of Freedom

I decided to post his chapter ahead of schedule, because I'm feeling creative right now. I saw Alexander last night, and bawled through a small part of it. Very good movie. I'm completely in love with Hephaistion (Jared Leto). If you see it, you'll love him too. (That movie is the ULTIMATE in slashy goodness. It's like all the Arthur/Lancelot slash in the flesh! My favorite slash pair has moved from Arthur/Lancelot to Alexander/Hephaistion.) Yay!

So, read and review. As always, I'm eternally grateful to everyone who has reviewed my work. You have NO idea how much your reviews bring up my confidence level. You seriously make my writing all the more fun, because I know I can always count on you to leave me amazing, wonderful reviews for me to read. I save every one of them. I'm not lying, I really do.

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**Chapter 19: **The Gift of Freedom

Even before I opened my eyes, I knew she was gone.

I could not feel her breathing against me. I could not hear her heart beating in my ears, which had been a lullaby to me the night before. I could not feel the warmth her body gave off. There were only the soft blankets and the cold morning air as the sunlight hit my eyelids.

I did not want to open my eyes, but I did, and they confirmed what I already knew. She was not there. I closed my eyes shut tight once again and heaved a great sob. There was no one else in the room. No one would hear me crying. There was no shame in it if they did not know.

It was not the first time I cried, but it was the first time that I did not have the option to seek comfort in Arthur while I was crying. Arthur had always been there for me whenever I felt the need to let out my emotions. It was almost as if the man could read my mind; as if our connection was so great that he could sense when I was going to cry, and came running. I half expected, on that morning, to hear his loud, booming knock on the door, but he did not come.

That was when it _really _occurred to me that I would never, ever see Arthur again. The man I had fought with, lived with, and would die for if he ever asked it, was going into battle without me by his side. What was it he had said to me in the stables that night? _How many times have we snatched victory from the jaws of defeat? Outnumbered, outflanked, but still we triumph? With you at my side, we can do so again._

How did he expect to win if I was not at his side! Did he _want _to die? Was his life so empty of reasons to live that he chose this: suicide by way of fighting an impossible war? I cursed in every language I knew, even throwing in a few words that I heard Woads mutter when they had been captured. Damn Arthur! Why did he do this? Why?

* * *

I wanted to stay; I _longed _to stay. I felt as if I didn't, then I would leave my heart behind, to be divided equally between Fuliciana and Arthur. It was certain to me, then, that I would never love again, nor would I find another friend as loyal and as great as Arthur.

But I left. I left because of Fuliciana's words. Arthur did not want me to get harmed. If Arthur wished me to go, then I would go, if only to please him. But was that really what Arthur wanted?

I was riding beside Bors, and Tristan rode up beside me, looking at me quizzically. I just looked the other way. The man had a habit of peering into other people's souls. I didn't want him to see what was in mine at the moment.

"So she loves you, then," he whispered, almost under his breath. "Good. I knew she would."

I turned to look at Tristan, slightly confused. Tristan shrugged, and I suddenly wished that Fuliciana were two women, so Tristan and I could have each had a woman. Tristan deserved a woman. Tristan probably needed a woman more than I did. I could only think of one instance when Tristan ever had a woman. It wasn't that Tristan couldn't get a woman. In fact, women used to throw themselves at Tristan like they would throw themselves at Galahad and I, but they soon learned that Tristan wasn't having any of it.

"Are you returning?" I asked Tristan softly. "To Sarmatia?"

"I suppose," Tristan said with a shrug. "Nothing better to do."

He flashed a smile at me, and I managed to smile in return. It was at that moment when, out of the corner of my eye, that I saw Arthur at the hill, holding his banner and staring down at us. He looked like a bloody god up there, but I looked away. I could not watch him and know that this would be the last time I would see him. I did not want that god-like image in my head as I looked at him. I wanted the image that I had been given the night before, when he looked at me full of pain and sadness. I wanted to remember a great man. I did not want to remember a god.

Bors rode out of line with the caravan, and raised his sword, yelling out his war cry. There was a long silence, but still I refused to look at Arthur. I felt tears welling up in my eyes, and I suddenly didn't care if Tristan saw.

When Arthur replied to Bors's cry, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to block out the noise. Why did Arthur have to be so damn noble? Why did he have to stay behind for a cause that was clearly not his own? If I was not allowed to fight because Briton was not my home, then why was he?

* * *

We moved on. I suddenly felt hopeless, like I had nothing to live for. Knowing that Arthur was going off to his dearth was too painful to bear. And Fuliciana? I did not know how I was supposed to feel about that. I had never even known a woman who fought in battle, and I had certainly never let a woman go into battle, let alone without me by her side.

When I heard the Saxon drums beginning to pound, I could envision Arthur and Guinevere and Fuliciana fighting, dying. I tried to keep out the images, but it was too hard. More and more outcomes of the battle flew through my mind. I could see them so clearly, and they were so real, that I felt tears welling in my eyes at the very thought. Guinevere fighting, being cut down. A Saxon wrapping his arms around Fuliciana, like I had the night before, and breaking her neck. Arthur, Gods, Arthur, being surrounded and slaughtered like a beast, defiant to the last.

My eyes flew open, and I noticed Tristan regarding me with a grim smile on his face. Was he amused by the expression of pain that was no doubt on my face? What about this predicament amused him?

Suddenly, our horses began to buck and neigh, trying to turn around. I pulled the reins sharply, and Dalai stilled, breathing heavily.

"Shh," I whispered to him, stroking his neck and trying to comfort him. The movement of my hand on his soft hair reminded me of Fuliciana, and I sighed heavily. I could not leave her.

I looked up at the others, and saw them looking back at me. Because I was Arthur's second-in-command, I had become their leader in his absence. Though if I were to ask, they would probably ridicule me for suggesting it, it was clear that it was very true.

I smiled sadly, seeing in my mind that happy reunion with my family that I would most likely never have. I had been longing for it for fifteen years, but staying behind was something that I knew I had to do.

* * *

I rode up to Arthur, and he looked at me with a smile. I could see, quite plainly, actually, that it was a smile masking concern. However, the concern was masking his relief. Arthur was a man of many emotions.

"Stubborn bastard," he muttered to me so only I could hear. I just smiled up at him and shrugged as the rest of the knights joined us with smiles despite the fact that we were most likely riding to our death.

Arthur's eyes traveled from me to all of the other knights, and I could see the sadness in them. When he had finished examining the other men, his eyes once again turned on me, and he smiled again. _Why? _His eyes seemed to ask me the question, and I shrugged in reply. _What else was I to do? _Arthur's eyes clouded, and he sighed, looking in the direction of the caravan. _You could have gone home. _I stifled a laugh and shook my head, reaching out my hand and placing it on the neck of Arthur's horse. _No. I couldn't have. _My eyes looked into his, and my smile faded. _Not while you remained._

Arthur looked down at me, and it was plain that he didn't want me there. He didn't want me by his side just as much as he did want me there. His eyes clearly spoke confusion to me, and his hand lightly rested on mine. Though he could not speak it in front of the other men, his eyes spoke to me more than words ever could. The others would not understand. They would not understand Arthur's use of the word 'love' as I did. They would not understand our embraces and our entwined fingers. They would not understand our attachment to one another, and the way that we sometimes lay with our heads together when we slept beneath the stars. None of them understood the friendship we had. None of them.

His hand lightly rested on mine, and he looked down at our entangled fingers before looking once more to his eyes. _Brother, _his eyes said. _Friend. _I sent the message back to him, and he nodded once before releasing my hand. I pulled my hand back to my horse's reins, and Arthur heaved a great sigh before pulling away from me and standing in front of the men, regarding us all with a serious expression.

"Knights," he began, his eyes wandering to the other knights, but always darting back to me. "The gift of freedom is yours by right." He paused and looked at me. I nodded once, and he continued. "But the home we seek resides not in some distant land. It's in us, and in our actions on this day! If this be our destiny, then so be it. But let history remember that as free men, we chose to make it so!"

In true 'Arthur' fashion, he drew Excalibur, the blade shining magnificently in the light. All of us around him held our banners high into the air, and brought them crashing down to stick in the ground. Tristan raised his bow, and fired. His arrow struck a man who was standing in a tree beyond the wall. Even I had to raise an eyebrow at that feat.

* * *

My mind is hazy as to what happened next, but I remember riding through a line of Saxons, swinging my blade and beheading one before riding back. Fiery arrows flew through the air, striking the Saxons where they stood, paralyzed by their fear. I remember Arthur yelling out a call as he rode, magnificent and grand as smoke swirled all around him from the pits of burning tar that the peasants had set up for the purpose of hiding us from the sight of the Saxons.

We retreated to the hill, and I could see, from where I sat upon my horse, that all of the Saxon infantrymen were dead. I turned to Arthur with a grin on my face, my every expression radiating with a confidence that I did not feel.

"Well, that only leaves the main army," I remarked, and Arthur grinned down on me fondly.

"Only," he snorted, looking out at the main army, which was beginning to march within the walls. "Always an optimist, Lancelot."

I shrugged, though Arthur wasn't looking at me at the moment.

"You learn to be an optimist when you're as good-looking as I," I remarked. Galahad happened to overhear, and he leaned forward, looking at me sharply.

"Do we have to have this argument _again?_" he asked with feigned exhaustion. "Will I once more have to prove to you that I am, without a doubt, the better looking?"

"Hush, Galahad," I remarked, holding up a hand. "If you hadn't noticed, there's a battle going on. Stop talking of such trivial things, and focus on the war."

Galahad snorted indignantly and turned towards Gawain.

"Yes, Galahad, complain to your lover," I muttered. Galahad turned and shot me a glare. If we were young children, he would have stuck out his tongue.

* * *

The Saxons marched forward, then, moving towards us quickly. All playful banter ceased as the full realization of what was ahead hit us. This was it. The battle that I had feared ever since we had returned to the wall. Fuliciana would be out there, fighting for her life, and now I would be there as well, fighting for mine.

It seemed to right to be there, on that hill, on that day, next to Arthur and my fellow knights. I felt as though nothing could touch me. Nothing could harm me. Why? Because Arthur was beside me, and as long as the two of us were together, nothing could take me away from him. Nothing.


	20. I Cannot Win If You Are Not By My Side

Chapter 20! And I finished Chapter 1 of Tears of a Warrior! So damn close!

Please review! I love all my reviews, and will give out chocolates. (Since you all like chocolates so much)

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**Chapter 20: **I Cannot Win If You Are Not By My Side 

We charged forward, swords raised and spirits low. I tried to smile at Arthur, but I could only look at him with stark fear in my expression. He, being the understanding man that he always was, patted my shoulder comfortingly.

"She will be fine," he said.

"It is not only her that I'm worried about," I pointed out. Arthur laughed humorlessly before pushing his heels into his horse's side, and shooting forward into the smoke. I had no choice but to follow him.

* * *

I was thrust into a world of pain and chaos. Nameless Saxon faces surrounded me, their blades coming up to cut at my legs. I stabbed downwards at them, careful to remember that the Woads were fighting with us; not against us as they had been for the past fifteen years of my life. I caught a glimpse of Arthur riding through the horde, and I pushed after him, slicing at the Saxons that blocked my path. Dalai kicked through a Saxon's face, and I rewarded him with a short pat to the neck before continuing on with my battle. 

I was losing sight of Arthur, and the thought filled me with a feeling of panicked dread. _Stop, Arthur!_ I was crying out in my mind. _Wait, Arthur! I cannot win if you are not by my side. _

As if Arthur had heard my plea, he turned around to face me, and he beheaded a Saxon with one swift stroke, motioning for me to hurry. In the next instant, the world turned upside down, and I was thrown from my horse. A hairy arm wrapped itself around my neck as I sputtered and gasped for air, before finally stabbing the Saxon from behind, stopping only for a moment to catch my breath, and then continuing my fight on foot. Dalai was lost in the turmoil all around me, and I did not have the time to look for him.

I heard Arthur calling my name, sounding panicked, and I looked all around me. I finally saw him, fighting off several Saxons.

"Here!" I cried, launching myself at one of the Saxons that was attacking my friend and commander. "Watch your back!"

Arthur ducked and rolled, stabling upward at the Saxon and throwing it off his blade before jumping up and facing me.

"I thought you had been lost," he said, relieved, to my pleasure, to see me alive.

"Me?" I asked with false confidence.

In a battle, there is little time for banter. In the next moment, I was knocked to the ground, and I kicked upwards at my unseen attacker, my blade stabbing into their groin. When I looked up again, Arthur was gone, and I jumped up, scanning the crowd for him. When I did not see him, I sighed and returned to battle, whirling my two swords around me like a deadly dance.

Then, I saw him. The Saxon with the distinctive beard who had been the leader of the infantrymen back on the ice. My eyes narrowed, and then widened when I saw Guinevere fighting him, obviously losing. I turned back to look at Arthur, and saw that though he was fighting several, Saxons, he seemed to be handling himself quite well. I looked back to Guinevere and saw her get thrown to her back by the man with the disgusting beard.

As luck would have it, Dalai was nearby, neighing and trying to get to me. It was remarkable how much that horse was like a dog. I had always found it annoying how he followed me wherever I went, but at the moment it was the best thing that could have possibly happened.

I ran towards Dalai and pulled myself up, charging forward towards the wall of fire that separated me from the Woad woman. Dalai cleared the flames, but when he landed, I was thrown from my seat, and I had to roll to avoid sprawling on the ground.

I jumped up and moved toward Guinevere and the Saxon. My heart stopped as I stared at Fuliciana, who was also fighting the man. As I watched, he threw her down, and then threw Guinevere down on top of her. He started to bring his sword down on the two of them. With a mighty yell, I charged forward and slammed my blade down below his, protecting my love and the love of my best friend from certain death.

Fuliciana opened her eyes and looked up at me, her mouth open in clear shock. I longed to pull her to me, protecting her from harm, but the infantryman had set his sights on me, and I was forced to fight him.

So we fought. I clearly had the advantage, as the man was weakened by his fight with the two Woad women, and he had one sword, while I fought with two. I brought my foot up and kicked him in the chest. He fell to the ground, just as another Saxon moved to attack me. I killed him without a thought, but three more swarmed me, and I had no time to fight the man with the beard.

I had killed the first man when Fuliciana ran up, tossing me a glare. I grinned in return, twirling as I brought my swords down on one of the Saxons.

"Lancelot!" she shouted as she got closer to me. "You foolish pig of a man."

I laughed as I stabbed the second Saxon yet again. Fuliciana kicked him and stabbed downward.

"You didn't expect me to leave without saying goodbye, did you?" I asked, grinning at her. I was hardly able to contain my excitement. Now that she was with me, I could protect her as I longed to. In fact, the first chance there was a lull in battle; I planned to give her the most breathtaking kiss she could ever hope to receive from any man.

Fuliciana sighed and shook her head at my statement as she brought her sword down on a Saxon that charged at her. I kicked him away, and he fell to the ground, unmoving. Fuliciana went behind me for a moment, twirling as she lunged at another Saxon. I fought of another of the beasts quickly. Suddenly, Fuliciana screamed.

I whirled around, looking for her, my entire being quivering with panicked urgency. I had to help her, wherever she was…

I stopped short when I saw him. The Saxon with the distinctive beard. I had only a moment to register that he was staring at me, smiling, before pain filled my world, and my entire body slowly and painfully went numb. I looked down and saw the crossbow bolt sticking out of my chest.

I looked to Fuliciana and saw her staring at me, unmoving, with her hands covering her mouth. Tears were already running down her face. It seemed as though everything had gone completely still all around me. I could no longer hear the noise of the battle around me, only my own heart beating weaker and weaker with every passing second. I turned to the Saxon, and was suddenly filled with an indescribable rage.

How dare he take my life when I was so close to freedom? How dare he kill me in front of her? How dare he take me from Arthur? Didn't he know that my death would kill Arthur inside, just as I had always promised that his death would kill me? No rational thought entered my mind. If it had, I would have realized that the man didn't give a damn about Fuliciana or I…much less Arthur.

Before I even realized what was happening, I drew back my arm and threw my sword with as much strength as I could. It flew through the air, end over end, and I saw it hit its mark before my vision went blurry. The Saxon fell to the ground, and finally I allowed myself to look at Fuliciana.

She was looking at me, crying, as if in anticipation. When I did not fall, an expression of immense relief came over her features. I tried to remain upright, only for her, and she took a step towards me, holding out her hand.

I could not stand any longer. I felt myself fall to the ground painfully. I felt the vibrations of the Earth all around me. I heard her scream my name, and I felt her knees dig into my side as she dove to the ground beside me. I felt her pull me head into her lap, and my face lay against her stomach. I felt her tears through my hair.

I longed to pull her to me and dry away my tears. I longed to comfort her, somehow. I wanted to tell her to get up and fight, so she too would not be lost. I wanted her to do _something _other than cry over me. I could not have her saddened over my death. I wished, at that moment only, that I had not gone to bed with her the night before. It would have made my passing so much easier on her.

But Arthur; Arthur would grieve. Arthur would grieve more than it seemed necessary, or even decent, because Arthur was my closest friend, and I was the world to him. (Or, so he told me.) _No woman could ever fill the space in my heart where you reside_, he had said to me once, slightly drunk on wine as we took a walk through the cemetery. _You are everything. _

"Lancelot!" Fuliciana sobbed again, and I was taken back to the present. I was dying.

"Arthur," I murmured once, before the world went completely black.

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	21. The End

Here we are! Final chapter! I don't own the bit at the end, that's all the scriptwriter's!

Reviews, as always, are lovely!

On to the sequel!

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**Chapter 21: **The End 

There was someone above me. Crying. Sobbing. I tried to move, but I couldn't. I was too weak, too helpless. Damn, I hated being helpless. _Arthur. _Someone was above me, hand on my chest. A sharp pain tore through me, and I gasped, my eyes flying open.

Arthur was the first thing I saw, hanging over me with his eyes dripping tears onto my face. He was staring at me, his eyes open with shock. I looked around me, and found her.

Fuliciana. She was staring at me, and her hair was flying around her face in the wind, making her all the more beautiful. And she was crying. Crying for me. Those tears…those tears were for me. It made a great warmth fill my soul, and I smiled tremulously.

"Gentle," I sputtered to Arthur, to make the situation slightly less depressing and silent.

"The Lord be praised," Arthur murmured, and I felt a stab of anger. I had just defied death, and still he praised his Lord? Why did he not talk to me? Why did he talk to that damned God of his? Wasn't I enough?

I tried to sit, a thousand thoughts filling me all at once, and not one of them making a shred of sense. As I was sitting, the other knights all cheered, and I managed a smile. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I realized that we had won, and I was a free man.

I found Fuliciana's eyes again, and I took her hand, squeezing it lightly. I was about to open my mouth to say something, but suddenly my throat seized, and I could not talk or breathe. I coughed to rid my throat of its tightness, but that only made it worse, and I felt blood bubbling up to my lips. Fuliciana's eyes became frightened, and then pained as I squeezed her hand endlessly, trying to force myself to release it.

"We must get him some help!" Arthur was yelling, but he sounded very far off in the distance. _Do not leave me! _I thought desperately, before once again there was black.

* * *

When I awoke, Arthur was by my bedside, watching me closely. When my eyes opened, I must have startled him, for his eyes widened, and he leaned back slightly. 

"Lancelot," he said, sounding pleased. "I am surprised you are awake so soon."

I shrugged, but it hurt to do that, so it was a half-hearted shrug at best. Arthur noticed my discomfort and put a hand on my shoulder.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm fine," I replied. "You look tired."

"Don't change the subject."

"I'm good at it."

"And I've gotten better at catching you."

I grinned at Arthur, and he smiled in return, though he still looked slightly worried about me.

"How are you?" I asked, holding out my hand. Arthur took it and our fingers lay entwined on the blanket. "Any injuries?"

"None that should give you cause for concern," Arthur replied.

"Bah!" I exclaimed. "Any injury you get gives me cause for concern, Arthur. Remember that."

"Lancelot, you have your own injuries to worry about," Arthur reminded me, as if I already didn't know. "You hardly have the time to be worrying about my nonexistent injuries."

There was something in Arthur's eyes. Something different that I could not read. I tilted my head to one side, feeling very weak, and raised an eyebrow at him. He sighed and looked away, but my gaze remained fixed on him until he looked back.

"What is wrong?" I asked. "Did someone…"

"Tristan," Arthur said before I could finish my sentence. I let my mouth drop open. _Tristan?_

How could Tristan have died? Tristan was, well, Tristan. Tristan was hardly ever wounded in battle. Tristan was too smart, too alert. Tristan knew everything about fighting, and everyone else knew nothing. How did a mere Saxon defeat him?

"Tristan," I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut against the pain that overwhelmed me. Arthur took his hand from mine and pulled me into a strong embrace, resting my head against his chest and laying his chin in my hair. He was shaking with sobs, and I could feel his tears on my hair.

I pulled myself from his arms and returned his embrace, with my arms around his neck, while his encircled my waist. His shoulders shook, but with me there, the pain would pass in time. That's how it had been for the past fifteen years. As long as I was with him, there wasn't anything that anyone could do to him that would harm him permanently.

"I thought I had lost you," he sobbed, one hand holding the back of my head. "I thought you were gone. I thought…I thought I was going to have to burn you."

I closed my eyes tightly, and tears began to stream down my face.

"I won't ever leave you, Arthur," I murmured. "I promise. I won't ever leave you."

And so we sat there in silence for a long time, just crying and taking comfort in each other's company. By the time Arthur's shoulders stopped shaking, the candle was almost out, and he had to light a new one.

"It is only with you that I feel strong when crying," Arthur remarked to me, as if he were surprised. "Thank you, Lancelot."

"There is no need for thanks with I, Arthur," I reminded my friend. "For you and I might as well be one, remember."

Arthur smiled and ruffled my hair as he eased me back onto the pillow.

"That we are," he remarked.

"How is everyone else?" I asked, trying to push Tristan out of my mind for the time being. "Galahad?"

As much as I hated to admit it, I was anxious to know if the boy was all right. Being the closest in age to I, the two of us related to one another better than any of the others. Though our relationship had never been nearly as strong as the relationship shared by Arthur and I, it was still one that I didn't want damaged by the death of one of its members.

"Galahad is well, as is Bors. Gawain only has a small wound."

"Good," I replied. "I don't know what Galahad would do without Gawain by his side."

"And in his bed," Arthur remarked, giving me cause to gape at him in utter amazement.

"This is truly a day of wonders," I said, shaking my head slightly. "Artorius Castus just insinuated that two of his knights share a bed."

"It's common knowledge!" Arthur protested. "As much as the two try to hide it…"

"You made a joke!" I exclaimed. "You made a bloody joke!"

Arthur fell silent and looked at me, a small smile on his face.

"So I did," he said.

"So you did," I replied. Arthur grinned at me. "So how is your woman?"

"Not going to ask about Fuliciana?" Arthur asked, his brow furrowing with worry.

"I saw her," I replied. "She was well."

Arthur looked down at the ground, his brow furrowing yet again. Immediately, my heart skipped a beat, and I struggled to sit. Arthur looked up when he heard my frantic movements, and he gently pushed me back down again.

"She is alive," he said gently. "She lost consciousness on the way back to the fort. She has a gash on her back that is quite deep. I believe, however, that she will be fine. The healers…"

"Don't ever scare me like that again," I said with a laugh, holding my hand to my forehead. Arthur placed a hand gently on my chest, where my wound still ached.

"I didn't scare you any less than you scared me," he reminded me. I shrugged, ignoring the pain.

"Well, that wasn't my fault," I said.

"I didn't personally witness the…incident, but I'm sure Fuliciana will testify once she's awake."

"Oh, really? Why don't you go see if she's awake now to find out?"

"All right. I will," Arthur replied.

We both knew that this was just a way of me asking him to see if Fuliciana was all right. And, we also both knew that Arthur wanted me to ask. He wanted to see how Fuliciana was doing himself. Because, as I told him once while drunk: my heart belonged to him, and his belonged to me, so any loves we had belonged to one another. Arthur knew that without Fuliciana, I would not be whole, and he wanted me to be whole as much as he wanted me to be alive.

So Arthur left. As soon as the door closed behind him, I decided that it was a bad idea. The darkness closed around me. The only light was a flickering candle near the door, and I kept my eyes on it, watching it dance, too keep my mind off of the darkness. While I loved fire, I always had hated the dark. It wasn't that I was afraid of it, necessarily, but I did not like it. Perhaps fifteen years of being attacked by Woads out of the shadows had done it.

Whatever the cause, I was always jumpy and unsettled in the dark, and that night was no exception. I kept my eyes focused steadily on the candle, allowing the light to fill my vision, so it would seem that the room was light.

Why _did _he always talk to his God? What was it about his God that made him smile even in the darkest of situations, when even I could not make his lips twitch up? What was it that made him ignore me to the point of driving me mad, while he spoke to his God is hushed whispers up in his room? _Why the bloody Hell did he talk to his God and not to me_?

"Damnit, Arthur," I growled, slamming my fist on the table beside my bed. "Damn you!" By now, I was not speaking to Arthur, but to his beloved deity. "Damn you for taking him from me!"

There was no answer, and I suddenly felt very alone and unloved. I was yelling and cursing the only thing that made Arthur happy. What kind of a friend was I?

"I'm sorry," I murmured, feeling very silly, talking to a deity that I did not even believe in. "I just…I do not understand _why _he talks to you. I am here, flesh and blood, his brother…his _best friend, _and yet he ignores me for you. Why? Why is it that he loves you so much more than he loves me? He tells me he loves me. He tells me that a man cannot live without his best friend, and that I am his best friend without a single doubt, but then he ignores me and talks to you! Why?"

There was no answer. Why did Arthur talk to this man, this thing, when it did not even answer his pleading cries? After all, he had prayed to keep us knights safe, and look at what had happened: Tristan and Dagonet had fallen, with me dodging death by only a fraction. His God had not done anything to help him. His God had abandoned him, while I remained there, with my arms ready to embrace him, and my mouth ready to whisper encouraging words to him.

My thoughts on Arthur were interrupted by a slight creaking from the doorway. For a moment, I strained my eyes to look across at the shadowy figure entering the room, but then her scent wafted across the room towards me, and I smiled. She picked up the candle and began moving towards me.

"Fuliciana?" I asked, starting to sit. Fuliciana seated herself on the end of the bed and pushed me back gently.

"Don't," she said. "I do not want you to get hurt any more."

"You came," I managed softly, looking up at her with a smile on my face.

She bent towards me, and her lips pressed against mine. I moved my hand up and wrapped it around her neck, cradling her head tenderly.

"Of course I came," she whispered, and I heard the pain in her voice. "Why would I not?"

"I don't know," I whispered with a sigh. Fuliciana rested her head on my shoulder lightly. "I feared…I don't know."

Fuliciana sighed and kissed me again, and I sat up despite her protests.

"Lancelot, " she said firmly. "Really, please lie down. You don't want to strain yourself."

I shakily took her hand and felt my eyes widen in surprise when I saw and felt the bandage that was on it. I remembered her look of pain when I had squeezed her hand tighter and tighter, unable to stop… I looked up at her, and saw the sadness in her eyes.

"I did this," I whispered sadly.

"Yes," she replied with a heavy sigh. "You did not mean to."

"But I did it. I caused you pain."

Fuliciana smiled at me and shook her head gently, lowering her head to mine, as if she were about to whisper a great secret.

"I welcomed the pain," she whispered. "For it meant that you yet lived."

"Fuliciana," I whispered, suddenly serious. I sighed as I thought about what I was going to do, and I clasped her hands in mine. "Will you go with me when I leave for Sarmatia?"

Fuliciana looked surprised and pulled her hands from mine, covering her face with them and breathing slowly, thinking.

"Yes," she said after a short paused.

"Yes?" I asked. "You will?"

"Yes," she replied. "I cannot remain here, Lancelot. Not without you."

I stared into the candle flame once more. This time it was closer to me, so I saw the finer details of the fire. When I looked back Fuliciana, she was staring at me with wide eyes.

"Then we are staying," I whispered. Fuliciana looked slightly taken aback.

"What?" she asked incredulously.

"We're staying. Here. With Arthur."

Fuliciana shook her head slowly.

"But your family…"

"You would have sacrificed your home to be with me, so I will do the same."

"No, Lancelot. I can not ask you to…"

"You do not have to ask me anything. I am staying of my own free will."

"But…"

"Please, Fuliciana. "I want to stay here. I do. You and Arthur are more important than a family I left behind."

Fuliciana sighed, looking deep into my eyes as if looking for a lie. She would not find one, for there wasn't one to be found.

"Then we will remain here," she said with a sad smile. I nodded and smiled in return.

"And we can love one another for the rest of our lives," I reminded her with a grin. "Everything worked out in the end."

"Yes," she whispered, taking my hand and kissing it gently. "Everything did."

* * *

A few months later, Arthur and Guinevere were married. I was still recovering, so Fuliciana and Galahad helped to support me at the ceremony, holding me up despite the fact that I was feeling all right on that day. Before the wedding, Arthur had approached me, while I sat alone under the trees, and had sat beside me. 

"I had a dream, the other night," he said to me, looking me in the eye sternly. I looked back, tilting my head to one side.

"Oh?" I asked. "About what?"

"About this wedding," Arthur said. "But you were not here. You had died at Badon Hill, and I had burned you."

Arthur sighed and laid his head back against the tree.

"I could not smile at her," he went on. "I could not do anything but think of you."

"Well, you still had your God," I muttered, not meaning for Arthur to hear me. Somehow, however, he did hear me, and he turned to face me, resting his hand in my curls once again.

"Why do you say that?" he asked me sadly. "Why do you say that? You know that I love you best of all, of anything in this world."

"No," I said sharply. "You do not. You love your God more. You love Guinevere."

"I love my God and Guinevere," Arthur murmured. "But my love for them cannot even come close to my love for you. You are my greatest and truest friend. Nothing, not a woman or a god, can ever change that."

* * *

So when they were married, I made sure to stand somewhere where Arthur could see me. I felt suddenly proud to know him. He was king of Briton, and still he found time to remind me that I was his greatest friend, and nothing would ever change. 

"Our people are one," Merlin said emotionally. "As you are."

The crowd cheered, but I did not join them. I only looked Arthur in the eyes and nodded. He smiled in return and nodded back.

"King Arthur!" Merlin yelled proudly, holding up a torch. The crowd cheered louder, but still I did not cheer. I only kept my eyes on Arthur as he stood watching all the festivities, and his face broke into a huge smile.

"Hail Arthur!" everyone cried. I joined in the cry this time, and Arthur looked at me, shaking his head.

_Do not bow to me_, his eyes said.

_You are king, Arthur, _I replied, shrugging. Arthur grinned.

"Let every man, woman, and child bear witness that from this day, all Britons will be united in one common cause," said Arthur, and he raised Excalibur high into the air. Guinevere's hand joined his, and everyone cried Arthur's name in unison. This time, I joined in the cry as well.

I happened to look out to the fields, and what I saw made my eyes fill with tears. Two horses, one black and one white ran free on the hills. Above them, a lone hawk flew, crying out a call that never reached my ears.

For two hundred years, knights had fought and died for a cause not our own. But on that day at Badon Hill, all who fought put their lives in service of a greater cause. Freedom.

As for the knights who gave their lives, their deaths were cause for neither mourning nor sadness. For they live forever, their names and deeds handed down from father to son, mother to daughter, in the legends of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

Hope you liked! On to the sequel! excitement 


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